


It's Only Pain

by liamozes



Series: It's Not Only Pain [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, Bundesliga, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, English Premier League, FC Bayern München, Football | Soccer, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Manchester City, Rivalry, all of this is fiction, in this they're bachelors okay, the premier league power couple of my dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-03-02 10:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamozes/pseuds/liamozes
Summary: The evolution of a relationship."What has perhaps been most interesting about the managerial tactical battle which has now raged across two countries, albeit beneath an umbrella of congenial civility, is that Klopp and Guardiola have changed each other."





	1. enjoy the game- let's play

**Author's Note:**

> i was appalled at the lack of good quality guardiopp fics out there so i decided to write my own. okay, i guess doing rpf is a little weird and sort of intrusive but i couldn't help myself. these two are going to be the death of me. 
> 
> city may have won the league, but in my heart, liverpool will always be the best team of the season. 
> 
> literally all these events are fictionalised- pls don't sue me or anything
> 
> enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Bundesliga.

> _"There is one thing you can be sure of — he wants to dominate._ _People associate his teams with the number of goals they score but his teams also don’t concede a lot._ _He always wants to be on the front foot, having the ball, possession, and he wants to dominate."_
> 
> **Thierry Henry on Pep Guardiola**

 

* * *

When Pep first heard of Jurgen Klopp, he was still the recently promoted manager of Barcelona.

One of his assistants had mentioned off-handedly at the start of the season that there was a newcomer in the Bundesliga that half of Germany was excited for, a young (well, young by German standards) coach for a scrappy team. His other assistant had scoffed. 

Pep did not think much about this  _Kloppo_  at the time- he had the Champions League to plan for- but he had a sense that the German was going to be important, just by the fact that his appointment was being discussed by coaches another league away. 

It was only until the 2012/13 Champions League season did Pep take notice of Klopp during his sabbatical in New York City. Dortmund had come in dead last in their group last season- not a real threat, as far as the Spanish coaching staff were concerned. They were proven wrong by the team's astounding victory over Real, Barcelona's greatest rivals. 

"They're good and ambitious," Tito tells him solemnly over drinks in the city, the night before the Round of 16 draw. He really shouldn't be drinking because of his illness, but it was a special occasion. "I think they have a real chance."

"The team attacks a lot," Pep replies, slightly tipsy. "That might be the key to their success- like ours."

Barcelona lost to Bayern in the semi-finals, which crushed the team like the loss to Chelsea last season but made for an interesting all-German final. Pep watched the highlights of both games in his Manhattan apartment. 

It really was something to watch a tall German running up and down the sides, arms waving, celebrating each of his players' goals like it was his own. Pep was curious at how Klopp seemed to throw himself into each game, win or lose. He would be a terrifying opponent. 

This was when he made his decision. 

He had wanted to start coaching again after his one-year break. It would be hard to top his achievements at Barcelona and also hard to find another club with the same unity as Barca. It would all come down to what league he wanted to play in. A league with the same level of competitiveness and promise as La Liga. 

Pep started taking German lessons.

* * *

"The fans think you are doing a good job so far," Hermann says after the 1-1 draw to Borussia Dortmund in September. "We will probably win this season."

Pep had no doubt about the superiority of Bayern Munich in the Bundesliga, the team having won the Champions League last season. Expectations were justifiably high. What was frustrating was the aggressive tactics of Dortmund's manager- his need to retain possession.

They might have peaked last year by reaching the Champions League final, but it did not mean Bayern could let their guard down.

"What do you think of Dortmund?" Became one of Pep's regular questions to himself and to his assistants. The black-and-yellows were a thorn in his side. The 4-2 away loss in the German Super Cup. The constant challenge they presented, in second place in the Bundesliga and closing up, was annoying. 

"I think they can be beaten," Is Hermann's reply. "Klopp's weakness is that he does not defend enough- it is a small one, _ja_ , but it can be exploited."

Bayern of course, secured the title with seven matches to spare. Pep expected no less of this squad, even if it did not include a central figure like Messi. He felt satisfied, for this proved to the rest of Europe that Pep Guardiola was a winner. 

This did not stop Dortmund from thrashing them at home, making it two losses against Klopp. It was an embarrassing record for Pep, who had aimed to get the better of the German on home soil.

When they shook hands afterwards, Klopp's was warm and sweaty- he had even patted the back of Pep's hand. They did not look each other in the eye. 

That night the commentators remarked on how the Dortmund-Bayern rivalry was shaping up, speaking on the contrasting tactics of the two head coaches. _Der Klassiker_ , they called it, after El Clasico. 

He shuts the TV off.  

* * *

 

Once again, Pep experienced Klopp's tactility at the German Cup Final, where he had hoped to secure a double in his debut season. 

A small part of him also hoped to get his revenge for that humiliation last time at Allianz. 

Thank god Mueller had scored, Pep was confident in the player's ability to hold up against the pressure Dortmund was applying on them. 

At the end, Klopp had thrown an arm around Pep's shoulders awkwardly, patting his face as though they were already good friends. He thinks they were far from it. 

"Congratulations," The other manager had said sincerely, almost shouting to be heard over the screams of the crowd. "It was a great match."

Pep gritted his teeth and tried to look amiable. "Well done."

The press was less than impressed with him and Bayern, wondering how they could have lost to Real Madrid so badly. Pep's first season was less of a triumph, as it was a careful journey of adapting to the team's counter-attacking style.  

They didn't matter. Pep would let his record speak for itself. 

* * *

 

His second season at Bayern got off to a rough start. Losing to Dortmund in the German Super Cup was an early setback. He had a strong team with Neuer, Alonso, and new addition Lewandoski, but it was not enough to keep Klopp's eleven from winning. 

Pep did not regret signing Lewandoski from Dortmund, no matter what it was said about poaching players from Signal Iduna Park, the player had come to Munich willingly.

"Well done," Klopp says to him in German, his sandy hair in his face, glasses a little smudged. He was smiling brightly, revealing yellow teeth. "Your team was fantastic."

Pep nods tightly, shaking his hand. "Thank you. Congratulations."

Klopp's smile, if possible, gets wider. Pep thinks that the other coach has too many teeth for his comfort. 

He pulls him in for a quick hug and a few pats on the back. All around them, the crowd goes wild- Dortmund fans really were happy with what they got. 

And perhaps the German Super Cup was not as prestigious as the Bundesliga trophy, which he was aiming to lift for the second time in a row. This loss would only make him and the team more desperate to beat Dortmund. Pep would have to change his tactics yet again to deal with this form of _gegenpressing_. 

"This isn't the way we do things in Germany," A board member says to him sternly in January. "You cannot put so much focus on transfers from your old team. Your current players have to have discipline and the motivation to win titles. They will have to do."

He thinks he has subtly been told to win the Champions League, or else. 

They are later eliminated from the Champions League by Barcelona in an emphatic loss at Camp Nou during the semi-finals. It is strange to face players he had trained and taught on the opposite side of the pitch. He had spent so much time with them, developing his own managerial style- not that he regretted leaving the team. Pep was proud that Bayern had put up a fight against the _blaugrana_. 

In the Bundesliga, Bayern was like the big fish in a small pond. Maybe not even fish- they were sharks. Freshwater sharks. A rival was Dortmund, with Klopp's seemingly limitless passion pushing a previously mediocre team to greater heights, but this season BVB was falling short, sinking out of the top four. 

Dortmund was playing better in April after Klopp announced his intention to leave at the end of the season. Pep would be sorry to see the manager go. It wouldn't change anything, as Bayern had the Bundesliga title in the bag by now, yet Dortmund was difficult because they actually thought they could _beat_ his team of champions. 

Outside of Germany, they were no longer the biggest fish. Pep had to preservere in order to get the club into a Champions League final once more. 

He was beginning to think that ending a season at the top of the league table was not going to be good enough next time. 

* * *

 

Pep has the sneaking suspicion that this might be his last season at Bayern, given that there was no attempt from the board to begin talks on renewing his contract. It was fine by him, for his agent had told him that there was already some interest from other teams.

He did love this team, as he did with the club he had managed before. Pep could not help giving his whole heart into managing his players. It was the only way to get them to put all their effort into a match. He would miss Bayern Munich.

"I will be winning the Bundesliga again this season," He says to his tireless coaching staff and players before they started training. " _We_ will be winning the Bundesliga again this season. We have done this three times, guys! Three times in a row!"

He holds up his fingers.  

"Some of you are champions. In my heart, in the fans' hearts, in Europe's heart- you are _all_ champions," He proclaims confidently. "You know what you must do- you know what you can do. You can win! Bundesliga. Super Cup. Even the Champions League! 

They look at him. A few are still sceptical, they are the veterans. But most of them believed Pep, and believed in themselves. That was all that mattered to him. 

"You are Bayern Munich. The best team in Germany. This club will control the ball- we will win every single game and we will not _concede_ goals. First, we will have to start training harder than the other teams. Hard work will bring us home the trophy."

Phillip- an exceptional player- leads the cheering after his small speech. Pep feels impossibly _glad_ that he is in charge of a well-oiled and enthusiastic squad.

Klopp had gone off to Liverpool, where he had made quite a splash- not that Pep has been actively keeping up on news of the German's new job at the middle-of-the-league English club. He believed that the coach's raw charisma and ability to inspire players would help him get on in the competitive Premier League. 

With him gone, Dortmund had lost a bit of its spirit. They still played confidently and the atmosphere was as good as ever, but without Klopp's hopping and jubilant fist-pumping something was missing. 

Manchester City had made him a good offer and he prepared to signed with them in secret. It was not an action he would feel bad about doing in the shadows- the club chairman would understand. 

"They want to extend your contract with them," His lawyer informs him in October, calling from Spain. "They are open to giving you a raise of fifty per cent."

"What of my plans to join Manchester City?"

"Obviously you can't tell them yet, Mr Guardiola. You have to stay till the end of this season."

"When can I tell them?"

"It depends on how well you do in the Champions League," His lawyer says. "I will hammer out a deal with City while also dealing with Munich."

Pep hangs up. He had to put this possibility of switching teams into the back of mind and focus on shaping his team. Ribery was out with a bad injury and the incompetent medical team was likely to blame for his slow recovery. He obviously had bigger fish to fry. 

It was fate that decided Pep would lose in the semi-finals of the Champions League for the third consecutive year. 

"We will be sad to see you go," The club's sporting director says softly at a board meeting where Pep had broke news of his departure from Bayern to City next season. "You have done a lot for us."

The rest of them do not look surprised. Pep thinks it is because he had not proven his worth to them by bringing home the Champions League title in his three-year term.

He hates how they judge him by the silverware he has won and not by the excellent squad he has built. They were on course to win another Bundesliga title, despite it only being December. Pep does want to reach the Champions League final, it would be good for team morale. 

"Ancelotti will be our replacement manager," His assistant coach says. 

"He's a good choice," Pep answers neutrally. 

There are stories that his legacy in German football would be forever tarnished by his failure to take Bayern to a Champions League final. That he will never win the treble with a German team. 

He hopes that these stories would not come true. 

* * *

After the loss to Atletico at home, he thinks long and hard in his bed at night. Pep was exhausted by the fast-paced legs this season as he had never been before at Barca. Whatever happened to his desire to win, to lead a team that wanted a victory more than the other?

Winning titles was important, yes, but being happy in his position was equally so. Pep does not think he has integrated into the German football system. The Bundesliga teams did not offer much of a challenge for Bayern. He was growing stagnant and he could not see winning the Champions League with this team. The media could talk about him and his legacy all they want- he was his toughest critic. 

What does hurt Pep a little, though he would not ever admit it aloud, is how cold the fans are towards him. 

He might not have Klopp's natural talent for connecting with others, and the fans were used to winning, but he was open about his team's need for support and his own passion for Bayern. At Camp Nou he was loved. In Munich, he was just another coach.

Pep did not make any excuses for his poor performance. His farewell ceremony seems half-hearted to him, as though the Germans had not truly related to him during his three-year spell in the country. 

Pep looks forward to leaving this place at last for Manchester because it was time for a change of scenery.

* * *

> _"Pep Guardiola lacks empathy._   _Jurgen Klopp taught me everything."_  
> 
> **Mario Gotze comparing the two managers he has played under**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me some kudos pls I need them to survive lmao
> 
> *tossing in loads of recent football history*
> 
> inspiration is from these two articles where guardiola was like "liverpool is the best club in england" and klopp was like "manchester city is the best team in the world" (not exact wording). that was hella cute 
> 
> gotze didn't actually say that "jurgen klopp taught me everything," the quote I used was more of a summary of his remarks. I think he did say that klopp was like a "footballing father" to him.
> 
> some research went into this. obviously i couldn't cover every single bundesliga moment (plenty of good ones like the German Super Cup semi-final which Bayern lost). 
> 
> \- Tito Valanova (god bless him) was an assistant coach of Barcelona during Pep's time  
> \- Hermann is one of the assistant coaches of Bayern during Pep's time  
> \- philip is Philip Lahm, captain of Bayern Munich from 2011-2017
> 
> featuring my attempt at a pep talk. wrote this in two hours instead of studying for a history test. RIP me


	2. a little pain can make the difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the 16/17 season.
> 
> (spoiler alert: chelsea wins)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm here with an update bc i'm trash. was not expecting people to read this. am shook. 
> 
> leave kudos pls-

> _"Pep won everything in Spain,_ _nearly everything in Germany,_ _so I think he wants to win everything in England,_ _that is clear."_
> 
> **Jurgen Klopp on Pep Guardiola's appointment as manager of Manchester City**

* * *

 

It comes as an unexpected surprise to Pep when his new personal assistant, a capable local woman by the name of Margery Sutton, leaves a memo on his shiny desk that says Klopp wants to have lunch with him. 

He couldn't recall meeting the German outside of a Bundesliga match- while both men were generally civil towards each other, they did not really talk much. It was the first time Klopp had initiated contact and it was for lunch in London after the meeting of the managers at the Premier League headquarters in the morning. 

Pep finds Margery a few minutes later, after mulling the invitation over in his mind. "Did he- did he say why he wanted to have lunch with me?"

"His office called," The woman replies with a shrug. She looks decidedly unimpressed. Pep had heard she had been a die-hard City fan all her life and had worked for the club for more than two decades, which was longer than he had been managing football teams. "Klopp wants to catch up."

Well, it wasn't much of a surprise to Pep that the friendly German thought they had parted on good terms. And he wouldn't be wrong to assume that the Catalan did not hate Klopp when they were both in the Bundesliga.

It was not all the all-encompassing rivalry he had with Mourinho- beating Real in an El Clasico match was the thing that had always been on his mind back at Barca- but they were not friends either. It was just that Pep did not know enough about Klopp the man to judge him. 

Margery raises her eyebrow at him. "Mr Guardiola?"

It was too early for him to tell her to call him Josep. 

"Of course I will have lunch with Klopp," Pep gives her a half-smile. "Thank you, Margery."

* * *

 

Manchester City was different than what he had been led to believe. The recruiters had told him that he would inherit a world-class squad when they hired him.  

Pep sees none of that in this team. They certainly had some talented attackers, and Kompany was a pleasant captain but that alone would not help him in winning any silverware. Needless to say, he was concerned about the progress of his new team. 

The lunch with Jurgen Klopp had been pushed so far to the back of his mind with all the training that had to be done that he only remembered it when his second assistant reminded him two days before. 

The Premier League meeting was a dull affair like all other football league meetings.

Pep, fresh and clean-shaven, is dressed in a smart grey suit without a tie.

Some managers were absent, including Mourinho, which was not much of a relief for him as he had wanted to see a familiar face, even if he sometimes wanted to punch it. 

Klopp gives him a jaunty wave when he sees him, gesturing to the seat next to him. Manchester City was next to Liverpool alphabetically, which was why they would be seated together for the meeting. The German is sporting a pair of glasses with black frames that bought out the light colour of his eyes and is dressed quite casually compared to the other managers in the room. 

"Hallo!" Klopp greets him in English cheerfully with a firm handshake. At least it wasn't a hug. 

"Good morning," Pep replies politely. "It's nice to see you again."

"I hope you haven't forgotten about our lunch? I would really like to try some of the steaks here." 

"I'm looking forward to it."

Mark Hughes, who was sitting opposite to them, speaks up, looking bemused. "So you two are going to lunch afterwards?"

Klopp nods. "Yes. We will starve if we do not eat."

"Ah," Is his response. Hughes leans back into his chair as the last managers arrive. 

The Chairman and his Head of Finances give longwinded speeches about the necessity to raise ticket prices for home fans and capping ticket prices for away fans. They project some diagrams representing TV viewership onto the wall and another man talks about changes to the rulebook. 

Pep's assistant coach jots words down into his notebook dutifully. He was one of the few who did. Klopp was staring steadily at the speakers. He could see Dyche's eyes glazing over from his spot and understood why some elected to skip this meeting. 

Some coaches have prepared questions about policies and transfers, which are deferred around until they are answered in a very indirect manner. Pep gets the impression that the directors did not know what they were doing. 

Finally, the meeting ends after three hours. Pep shakes hands with every manager whose face he could recall from his notes. The ones of recently promoted teams appear nervous, yet the veterans like Conte and Wenger look him right in the eye as if to show that they were not afraid of him. 

Pep thinks that his reputation may have preceded him. 

* * *

 

"Do you still talk to your Bayern players?" Klopp asks him with genuine curiosity once they are inside the restaurant. "Like Mario?"

The two had gone their separate ways after the meeting and had met up at the recently-opened restaurant in Chelsea.  

Pep confesses that he seldom did. Klopp did not look accusing. 

"You do not seem like a man who builds relationships easily," He notes. "German football is all about the bonds- between managers and players and their fans."

"It was easier in Barca for me," Pep admits freely. "I had already known the people there- and they are good people- and they knew me."

"The Premier League is like nothing you have ever played in," Klopp says sagely. "It is more demanding than the Bundesliga."

Klopp tells him a story about one of his players getting an injury last season that was not made public until he was tackled too roughly. "Players know they are playing in the best league in the world. They do not like to show weakness. You have to work them hard."

"I think I may need to strengthen my defence a little."

"You may be a brilliant coach, Pep, but you should know you should not tell your enemy," Klopp points at himself humorously. "This secret information."

"I trust you will not hold it against me."

Klopp laughs. 

* * *

The lunch was delicious, even for someone who did not normally enjoy eating steak like Pep. Their conversation had moved on from the Premier League to reminiscing about their Bundesliga memories. 

"My proudest moment was actually beating Bayern away 3-0," Klopp says earnestly. "It made us very confident in our next games. It was brutal."

"Then I will say you were the only realistic challenger for Bayern- when you weren't ranked under us on the table," Pep says wryly. 

"What a compliment!"

Time passes remarkably quickly when you were having a good time out. Pep realised that it was almost three when he noticed that the restaurant was almost empty. Clearly, the staff had been kind enough not to kick them out. 

"Let me pay for the lunch," Klopp- or _Jurgen_ , as Pep had started to call him in his head- says, graciously holding out a black card. 

Pep didn't protest, even though they could have split the bill. He had learnt that it would be too much of an effort to argue with the stubborn German. "Thank you for asking me out."

He cringes inwardly. Pep should have worded that better, now he made it sound like Jurgen had asked him on a date. 

"Thank _you_ for being excellent company," The man smiles again, the lines around his eyes crinkling. "And also for the steak for being tasty."

Pep was shocked to see that there were no reporters waiting for them outside, or perhaps it was because everyone but middle-class housewives and tourists was working. 

Jurgen shakes his hand for the third time today. He brings him in for a warm hug, briefly resting his chin on Pep's head.

They exchange name cards- something they should have done back in the Bundesliga. Klopp somehow finds a pen and crosses out the number on his. 

"My personal number," He explains, scribbling something down messily. "We should talk sometime soon."

"Yes. Yes."

"See you next time on the pitch, Pep."

"You too, Jurgen."

* * *

City's fixtures are good at first glance, but then Pep has trained his mind not to trust first impressions. Sometimes the game was simple. Mostly it is not. 

He meets Jose on the opposite side of the dugout once again. The Manchester derby seemed like a throwback to their El Clasico matches. And like an El Clasico match, Pep's side wins 2-1, which greatly benefitted morale. 

Pep thinks his players are starting to know him better, and he, them. 

People often misunderstand him. He may be the most coveted coach in the game, but he could not make miracles. Great football took two things- great players and great tactics. Luck was not in the equation- he hoped City would make their own.

"How are you feeling, Vincent?" He asks the Belgian captain post-match on the way to the dressing room for a debriefing, worried about his fitness. 

"I'm doing alright, coach," He replies. "It's just my leg again."

"You should find the physio to look at it."

Kompany dips his head, not protesting. He knew how minor pains could turn into major injuries in their sport. 

Pep makes a note to himself to talk to Kevin tomorrow. If Kompany was not going to be able to give it his all in a match, then it would be better to focus on other players. 

* * *

 

For the match with Tottenham Hotspur, Pep felt uncharacteristically nervous. He had been given a choice between City or the Spurs when he had thought about coming to England. The Spurs position had been given to Pochettino when he declined. 

Sergio was fit. He could cover for Kevin, who was suffering an injury. His squad would have no problem scoring at White Hart Lane with Kane out, which was the plan. 

The best-laid plans had a way of going seriously wrong. 

City was beaten 2-0, ending their winning streak. He never thought they would lose a game. Pep was disappointed but supposed that the Spurs players played more vibrantly at home. 

So they shrug it off.

* * *

Pep knows how fragile footballers in this day and age were. One loss and they were shaken. 

The draw with Southampton dug into his heart. That team was smaller and weaker than City, who should have won outright. Pep singled out some flaws in his line-up.

Joe Hart had had an uncertain performance. It may be due to the growing fatigue, but Pep was certain there was something more. If the English player could not give the team his all, he would have to be let go, regardless of the club's attachment to him. 

City was having a tough time in the Champions League. Pep had thought they could make the semi-finals this season, though they were in the same group as Barcelona, which was obviously the strongest team in Europe. He aspired to win against his old team, as nothing in their strategy had changed much since he left. 

He could not predict that they would lose by four points in front of nearly a hundred thousand people- this was bad even for him. Then again, teams who could beat Barcelona at Camp Nou with its electric atmosphere were few. 

That made their win at home even better. 

At least they had successfully made it to the Round of 16. It was not the worst result of his career. 

"You still want to believe you are at Bayern," Domenic brings it up as they watch the players training. Pep tucks his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, the Northen chill was beginning. "You can't think that you have been handed the best team in England. This is the Premier League. The fans expect more."

Pep glances at the field, where despite the temperature, the players were having a laugh with each other, passing balls between them. Sterling had just nutmegged Kevin. This was the team spirit money could not buy.

"I am under no illusions."

"Then start playing like it."

* * *

 

Pep doesn't know what possesses him to give Jurgen a call. 

"Your squad should have better communication," He advises him after a little bit of small talk about the weather. "That's how to make them work better on the pitch."

Those were actually vague words that did not seem all that useful to Pep, having already banned smartphones and social media during training, but it was better than nothing. 

He sighs. 

"How are you feeling, Pep?" Jurgen asks, his voice deep, crackling over the phone line. 

Pep rubs his brows with one hand. 

"I have to say... I have to admit that this is more difficult than I expected."

"Well," The other manager huffs. "You'll get used to it, not being able to make a challenge for the title. City is no Bayern, huh."

Pep ignores the jibe.

"What about you? How is Liverpool?"

"Freezing but rewarding. My boys work hard." 

"Good luck then."

* * *

One thing he likes about his new assistant coaches is how they all seem to hate Chelsea as much as he did.

"Conte is," Mikel makes a face. "A beast. Isn't this the 3-4-3 formation?"

"I'm worried about the players," Brian chimes in. "We nearly avoided a sprained ankle for Kompany during a practice game today. Can't work them to hard ahead of the Chelsea match in April."

"They've been winning too many games. We must not be overwhelmed," Pep slaps his palm. "More possession! 2-3-3-3."

So they lose to Chelsea. His players head off the pitch with their heads bowed.

In spite of that, Pep was optimistic about their chances to finish in the top four and maybe grab the FA Cup trophy while they were at it. 

There was a match with Liverpool at Anfield on New Years Day. 

If there ever was a more daunting stadium to play at in England, Pep thinks it would be Anfield. The cries of the fans echoed across the whole ground. It was intimidating.

Where else would there be a header in eight minutes- _eight_!

"The person who finishes above the other at the end of the season should take the other out for dinner," Jurgen whispers in his ear when the match ends with Liverpool winning. 

Pep was not in a good mood. It was easy for the German to say, being in second place. 

"Alright. Alright," Pep says, shaking his hand a little too hard. Klopp seems to smile even more. "Good game."

* * *

 

Somehow he keeps in contact with Jurgen. The Liverpool manager calls him in the middle of the day when he should be at his busiest, training with his players and being in meetings. 

Pep lets himself be invited to have a cup of tea at Klopp's home on when they have a mutual day off. He hasn't been to another manager's home since he lived in Barcelona. He had assumed coaches in Germany were not that friendly with one another. 

He drives to Liverpool in an hour- the two cities were almost neighbours in that sense. 

"Pep!" Jurgen says as he answers the door in a comfortable sweater and jeans. He looks nice out of his traditional competition outfit of a tracksuit and cap. And his beard was trimmed neatly. Were Pep a different person, he might have tried to-

"Good afternoon," He replies formally, shaking his hand, cringing inwardly. _Josep! Get yourself together!_

They enter the heated house. It was just as cold in Liverpool as it was in Manchester. Pep hangs his coat up, taking in the smell of sandalwood, and the wooden interior and red accents. It is decor that reflects the manager's personality, bold and good-natured, a house that invites you in.

"I like your home."

"Thank you! It was like this when I moved in, I thought the colour, uh, scheme would suit the club. That was a gift from Dortmund fans."

A black and yellow painting of what is unmistakably Signal Iduna Park hangs on the wall in the dining room. 

"It's beautiful."

They take a seat at the round dining table. There is already a tea set on it, probably prepared by Klopp's housekeeper. 

Jurgen starts. "How have you been?"

Pep exhales. "It's been a season."

"The season hasn't even ended yet- and you are here like an old man. Huffing and puffing."

He manages a smile. "I think I have lost decades of my life in half a year."

"But you love it," Jurgen says knowingly. And he's right. 

"It's a beautiful game."

"Hmm... you know your German is quite good for a Spaniard. I guess three years is enough to learn a language."

They had been speaking German.  

Jurgen does not talk about the Premier League afterwards. He speaks about his hometown while Pep pours out something that smells like tea. He hadn't thought the other man was being serious when he spoke about "having tea". 

"You don't like tea? Coffee maybe?"

Pep shrugs. "I don't have a preference." 

"Not even for _really_ good tea?"

"I like really good coffee."

"Do you know what they say about men who like coffee?"

Pep is confused. "No."

"They like to keep things simple, though you always overthink life."

"Not everything is straightforward."

"All your tactics are so complex. The game is simple."

"What- like you? Lose the ball and win it back. There's no-" He searches for the word. "Elegance."

"Elegance does not win you games," Jurgen blows on his tea. "As you should know."

Pep narrows his eyes.

* * *

Jurgen takes him on a walk outside. He lived in a secluded area, a quiet place with a large backyard. 

Pep would rather stay in the warm house, but he couldn't say no to the other man- it would be impolite. 

"It's freezing," Pep says, cursing the English weather. He longed for the humid Barcelona nights and the gorgeous sunsets. In England, it was either cold and cloudy, or grey and raining. 

"Maybe we shouldn't have come out."

"It's fine. We can just do a lap and then go back."

"The cold is good for the soul. I fucking hate it."

"You were the one who wanted to go for a walk in winter."

Jurgen looks ridiculous in a large black puffer jacket, cheeks flushed from the wind.  

"You were the one who said yes!"

"I wasn't about to say no."

 _To spending more time with you_ , is what Pep does not add.  

Jurgen sighs, his breath a white cloud. They do not speak for a while as they march through the snow at a slow pace. Pep feels his legs begin to warm- the cold was not so bad. 

The man is looking into the distance. His side profile is rugged, reminding Pep of the portraits of generals that could be found in galleries. He appears like he was preparing for a battle in the calm before the storm.

Pep looks away when Jurgen turns his head towards him.

* * *

"You're getting awfully chummy with Klopp."

This is what Margery says to him when he returns to his office from the training grounds to take care of some business in late February. 

Pep starts. He did not think the press would have gotten to them so quickly. 

However, Margery does not look scornful, simply questioning. 

"Why do you ask?"

His secretary follows him into his office. 

"Two slots in your schedule next month are taken up by trips to Liverpool. Once on Thursday and once on a Sunday."

Pep tilts his head. Maybe his second assistant had told Margery about his meetings. He had written the visits down in pencil, so they were not exactly set in stone. 

"I am meeting with Klopp for _business_ , Margery."

The woman raises an eyebrow- a common facial expression when dealing with him, he noticed. "Surely not _pleasure_."

He frowns.

"I'm not going to doubt your loyalty, Mr Guardiola, but you cannot be distracted by these things. I will not have my club finish out of the top four."

Her Scottish accent was hard to understand, which is why Pep hesitated to reply. 

"I love Manchester City with all my heart, Margery. You don't have to- You cannot worry about it."

"I should _hope_ I don't have to."

* * *

 

Pep was pretty positive that City would do well in their away round against Monaco. 

They had already beat Monaco 5-1 last time, so why should it be any different now besides Monaco's desire for revenge?

He supposes it was hard to underestimate the home advantage. Somehow Monaco's youthful team got the better of Manchester City at Stade Louis II. 

"David!" Pep had spoken with the player one-on-one before the second half, pointing at the whiteboard. "Remember passing diagonally? You have to go a little further into the box, your ball has to find the back of the net- we cannot let Monaco score another goal."

Sadly, it would not be sufficient. 

A French reporter catches up with him. "With Manchester City out of the Champions League, will you be focusing on winning the domestic title?"

Pep crosses his arms. "I think City will continue to put a lot of effort into each of our remaining games. The result tonight was not ideal, but there will always be another season. We will have to regroup and rethink our strategy."

* * *

 

The match with Liverpool a week later ends with a tie. 

And by god, it was an exhilarating match at home. There were so many missed opportunities that if Pep had hair, he would have been close to tearing it out. 

He had said before the game that he wished to have Jurgen's charisma. And it was the truth. 

They squabbled a little in the first half about giving Liverpool a free kick, both yelling, until Pep had given up and ran up to the German with his hand held up. 

Jurgen takes in the force of Pep's handshake, staring down at him. The taller man looks away, brows furrowed. 

When he rewatches the comical moment later, Pep wants to laugh as his assistants did. 

"The kick is still ours!"

"Well, I don't think it should be given to Liverpool! You-"

They were both stuck in a battle for the top four, given that Chelsea had stubbornly maintained its position in first. Tensions were high.

Denied penalties and Sergio's near-miss were too much for Pep to bear. They had to qualify for the Champions League by the end of this season, especially after the defeat to Monaco. Liverpool was proving to be a tough opponent. He knows there was no manager other than Jurgen with more wins against him. 

Their growing friendship- or at least that was how Pep liked to think of it- had been strained, judging by Jurgen's tight-lipped smile after the thrilling match. Pep felt the same, but if anything, they could still have tea together. 

* * *

A few months later, Jurgen calls.

Pep has been waiting for this. He knows how rarely the German initiates contact over the phone. 

"Hello." 

"Congratulations. You're in third place."

"I can see that. And you are in fourth."

Jurgen chuckles lowly. "Take me to dinner?"

Pep feels his heart stutter, but only a little, for he was no schoolboy. He would not lie that part of the appeal of winning matches this season was a potential dinner date with Jurgen. 

"I'll send you the place and time. You won't mind coming over to Manchester this time?"

"Of course not. As long as there are no reporters."

Yes, Pep disliked nosy reporters as much as his counterpart did. Maybe a private restaurant in Salford. One with soft lighting. 

"I will take care of it."

"Thank you."

"Well done to you and your team. I think the phrase would be 'better than expected'."

"Ah- they are like my family."

"Okay, see you then."

* * *

 

Pep is disheartened by a trophyless season, even taking City to third place only makes it slightly better. If only winning titles were as easy as it had been at Barca and Bayern. He was lucky he was not dismissed by the owners. 

He tries not think about the past much- the Premier League was a rewarding series of competitions where nothing was certain. Pep had always been a thrill-seeker when it came to football and this caused him to keep coming for more in English football. He had found a new place for him to settle down. 

And as for Jurgen Klopp... Pep had become aware of his own sexuality before marrying his ex-wife. He definitely did not mind whether he laid with a man or a woman, as long as they were interesting and could keep his attention for long periods of time. 

That was Klopp in a nutshell- an incredibly enigmatic man. 

There should also be chemistry, and it was undeniable that Pep and Jurgen worked well together. Over time, they may build an affectionate bond that could transform into something more. And he wanted it to. He wanted companionship desperately. 

He could only dream that the other man felt the same. 

* * *

 

> _"I am grateful to be here, and I will always be grateful for the opportunity Manchester City gave me."_
> 
> **Pep Guardiola**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give this kudos. comment for me to live :)
> 
> references  
> \- manchester city 16/17 season ([wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2016%E2%80%9317_Manchester_City_F.C._season))  
> \- how a relationship starts  
> \- round of 16: man city v monaco ([ the guardian](https://www.theguardian.com/football/live/2017/mar/15/monaco-v-manchester-city-champions-league-last-16-second-leg-live))  
> not made up people  
> \- domenic torrent: assistant coach (man city)  
> \- mikel arteta: assistant coach (man city)  
> \- brian kidd: assistant coach (man city)
> 
>   * also, made-up people, because there are no staff lists available online. making up events is my jam. I think they do have annual premier league manager meetings (to discuss pricing? idk they may be the most boring meetings ever)
>   * I wanted to cover the 16/17 and 17/18 seasons in one chapter but then I wrote too much so now it's going to be split into two chapters (as it should be). sorry if you wanted a match-by-match thing I have a test tomorrow and I literally do not have the time-
>   * how do I capture their voices? I've never met them in person.
>   * these convos are so awkward I was cringing while writing them. romance is Not My Thing. 
>   * sandalwood is the most basic smell ever but I can't just google "what jurgen klopp smells like" (answer: team spirit)
>   * I am a petite Asian girl and these two men are so freaking tall. 
>   * should I include more players in this?
> 

> 
> thank you to the tumblr person for making that gif of their high-five!


	3. viva la vida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 17/18 season. 
> 
> You know how this ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mwahhhhahahah I'm back guys
> 
> city have won the domestic treble so that's good ig 
> 
> before I begin I just want to thank putin for leaving a really nice comment on both chapters- your support is why I keep going!
> 
> give me kudos and comments :)))

 

 

> _"I know it is difficult guys, I know because you want to win. I know, but you have to learn how to play football with courage."_
> 
> **Pep Guardiola**

* * *

 

"Do you know," Jurgen begins over brunch one day during the pre-season break and a few weeks after the club friendlies abroad had ended. Pep had just dissuaded him from smoking a cigarette. "That you have the best odds to win the Premier League, next to United?"

It was odd that the German would mention that, as he did not often talk directly about football when they met. Pep puts it down to the beginning of trust. 

"Our fundamentals are still the same, I'm not going to change my style of play. We are just going to change our mentality- City has a high chance of winning. We have the best players."

"How are we going to hold up against you," Jurgen's eyes sparkle with mirth. "You seem ready to destroy the league."

"That's one way to put it. Mourinho is steaming."

"He's always angry about something, that one," Jurgen takes a big bite of his bacon. "Do you still talk with him?"

Pep hasn't really had a private moment with Jose since the Manchester Derby last year. Their relationship has come a long way since their days at Barcelona when the translator turned assistant coach still had dark hair and he still had a full head of it. 

When Pep dared dip his toe into his pool of memories, he reflected on what could have been between them. Jose was funny, charming when he wanted to be, and ambitious to a fault. They would have stayed good friends, even as managers of two teams who were eternal enemies, but he supposed they were both to blame for the destruction of their relationship. 

"Pep?" Jurgen asks concernedly. "You're thinking again."

"Jose is my neighbour. We can't avoid talking."

They sip their drinks idly. Pep had, out of the blue, picked an iced coffee, something he normally did not drink as a Catalan, because he had been momentarily startled by Jurgen's foot bumping against his leg. 

It is a quiet cafe, a little off the main road in Manchester, almost in the countryside really, that used to be a pub. This place is filled with sunlight pouring in from floor-to-ceiling windows, the quaint wooden furniture, and green plants for a pop of colour. Pep likes the peaceful atmosphere. 

And no one seems to recognise them here. 

"Why are you bringing up Jose anyway?"

Jurgen shrugs expressively. "He's a good coach who gets results."

"With a worsening team."

The other man grins. "So you have noticed too?"

"It is hard not to when Pogba is playing on a contract of ninety million for what should be the best club in the world with a frown on his face."

"Players who show a little talent are overpaid."

Pep nods slightly, although he had spent more transfer money than Liverpool had this summer. 

He changes the subject, not wanting to talk about Mourinho any longer than he had to. "So have you read any good books recently?" 

Jurgen cocks his head puzzledly but answers his question honestly. Pep is glad, yet is scared at how well they fit together and how attracted he was to him. 

* * *

Manchester is growing colder, despite the fact that autumn was only round the corner. 

Pep is getting used to the film crews following the team around the training grounds. The board and the sheikh had promised that the camera crew would not be too annoying a presence, but he thought otherwise. He could not do anything without a camera in his office, at least they haven't tried to get him to sit down for an interview yet. 

He had never liked posing in front of cameras, not like Jose. 

"I don't understand why they have to be here," He grouses to Brain in private. 

"Well, you signed the papers too, Pep. Might as well learn to live with it."

"It will affect the players."

"These lads know more than you think- they're not the kind to pretend to be something they're not when there's a camera on them."

"Why do they want to film a series about City anyway."

"The owners think it'll be good press. People around here are _obsessed_ with the modern game. Ya know they've been talking about it since before you came."

Pep wants to scoff. While he was grateful for the support the board gave them, he had heard how the fans of other teams thought they had gotten to where they were because of the millions poured into buying the best players and getting the best equipment. A documentary series that was generally uncritical may prove them right. 

"Are you worried about your image?"

Pep shakes his head. His reputation had taken many hits over the years- a few more meant nothing as long as they could win the Premier League this season.

* * *

You do not notice pressure until you let it take over.

Mansour had supported City with his many, seemingly limitless resources- Pep was aware that it was now or never for him to prove to Europe that he still had that special managerial spark. 

"I actually think our team can beat Liverpool," Mikel says to him in Spanish as they scheme in front of a whiteboard. "Klopp is still trying to get his defenders to do work, even after they defeated Arsenal, which is how we will get him."

"They assist to their strikers once they are inside the box-" Mikel continues, pointing at the two red magnets that represented Salah and Mane. "Here and here. I think Van Djik favours a pass that is closer to the edge of the field, so we can have a player intercept him there."

Pep had witnessed Jurgen's _gegenpressing_ technique firsthand back in the Bundesliga. They would have to control possession for most of the game if they wanted to win. And Liverpool may not play as well at the Etihad as they did at home. 

"Good," Pep says. City's defense had become stronger over the break. "The game will be tight. John will have to fill in for Vincent."

He couldn't help but smile automatically when shaking his fellow manager's hand on the big day. Jurgen grins back, though his gaze was hard behind his glasses. 

There would be no mercy from him today. Nor would Pep show him any. 

Kun scores, like Pep knew he would. Salah didn't manage to shoot anything that hit the back of the net, which was a weak effort for the forward. Mane was sent off in the first half, rightly so in his opinion, for kicking Ederson in the jaw. The supporters roared around them, hungry for more. 

"You guys have to take advantage of Mane, okay? And Salah is always so _quick_ ," Pep is close to yelling as he gestures in front of the whiteboard, moving magnets back and forth. "Back five push towards the box. Otamendi and Mendy, _don't_ stop pushing them."

Jurgen looked on frustrated from the touchline, as City made their statement. 

It was the worst defeat in Jurgen's career at Liverpool- their first one of the season, bringing their impressive start to a halt.

He is not one to gloat in the face of a man who has just suffered a terrible loss, which is why Pep quickly ducks his head and shakes Jurgen's hand, not looking the other manager in the eyes. 

"Congratulations," Jurgen grounds out, keeping his words simple.

"Thank you."

* * *

The sun has set in Manchester when Pep hears the knock on the door. 

He opens it to invite Jurgen in quickly before the cold got into the house. The other man is wearing yet another black puffer jacket and lit softly by the lights in the hallway, Pep thinks of taking him to one of his favourite restaurants in Spain, just to see him look like that again. 

"It's quiet," Jurgen tells him as they head into the dining room. The man is lingering a few steps behind Pep, looking at the framed photos on the wall, uncharacteristically shy. 

"The kids are with my ex-wife in winter- they hate the cold."

"You don't talk about her a lot," Jurgen says, arms crossed. He is clad in a cream-coloured sweater and well-worn dark jeans that look deceptively simple. 

Pep in truth did not like to talk about what went wrong with his ex-wife three years ago. He had believed that he had fallen in love with her at first sight when he saw her in her family's shop, trying to buy a pair of jeans, but maybe she had not been the one. Though he wished that his children would want to stay with him for more than four months a year- he got lonely sometimes. 

"I'd rather that stay in the past."

"Ah!" Jurgen says, understanding at once. "You know I was- was anxious when you asked me to come over. It's not every day a normal man like me gets a chance to have dinner with the greatest manager in Europe."

"Please don't start," Pep laughs a little, getting ready to pour the wine. "I don't like to think about my image in Europe."

Jurgen swirls the wine around in the glass, not even smelling it. Pep could have guessed that he would more of a beer man. 

Pep had cooked pasta based on a recipe he had stolen from an Inter player when he was still playing. He didn't eat a lot of carbs, but the savoury dish would pair well with the wine.

"I'm still- I'm still thinking about how you beat us. Could it have been the wind? Could it have been the home advantage? Could it have been Mane being sent off?"

It said a lot about their relationship if he was openly admitting that. 

Pep shrugs nonchalantly, his mind going back to emphasising to his players the need to use the smallest of margins to their advantage. "If it had been any other day, Liverpool could have won."

Jurgen chuckles. "You broke through our defense. That is no small feat."

"You should watch our docu-series to find out more."

The other man holds back a snort, knowing how Pep disliked the filming of the Amazon series. 

Somehow they end up on the couch, chatting quietly into the night. Jurgen is sitting there lazily, like a big cat relaxing before the hunt. Pep feels tense under his calm stare. 

It is distressingly easy to let go of his fears when he is talking with the German, it was a bit like the conversations about tactics and the game he had with Cryuff when he took over Barcelona's first team. 

Pep has a penchant for overthinking a single thing, for obsessing over it until it is clear that he should not have. In that way, Jurgen is his exact opposite, focusing on every aspect of the game at once. 

"Remind me never to watch a match with you," Jurgen says jokingly, listening to Pep break down Arsenal's problems. "I'm stealing that idea about deploying a midfielder by the way. It will be good to keep them on their toes. They really don't have enough attacking experience."

"Hmm," Pep muses. "I have learnt that counter-attacking is not the best way of handling things. Coaches have to build teams that are adaptable. Versatile."

"That must be why you kept switching formations at Bayern- drove us nuts."

"We had to take control of the ball. I had to change the team tactically to build attacks."

"It was like you were playing a different sport," His companion looks close to sighing dramatically, a hand on his forehead. 

"Dortmund always made a huge racket. All bark, no bite."

"Hmph."

Pep locks eyes with Jurgen, who looks back with some intensity. The other man had removed his glasses after dinner and had taken to squinting at things around the house. His eyes were clear though, as they gazed at one another. 

He looked at Pep as though he was the most interesting thing in the world. The openness took his breath away. 

The other man lays a hand on Pep's thigh, the heat of it is searing, like a promise. 

They lean in, drawn by some inexplicable force towards each other. 

Pep thinks it is a bit like watching two trains collide in slow motion.

Jurgen places a hand on the back of Pep's neck intimately and presses his warm lips to his.

It is by no means a gentle kiss. 

He tastes like bitter wine as Pep allows Jurgen's hot tongue to enter his mouth. He rakes his hands through sandy hair. The other man's grip is possessive, nearly succeeding in pushing him into the couch. 

_I want you._

Jurgen starts biting at Pep's neck, somewhat clumsily, likely not used to kissing another man. Still, Pep squirms under the passionate ministrations, it had been so _long_ since he had-

"You have no idea," Jurgen pants out in his harsh German- Pep can barely comprehend his words in a haze of pleasure. They pull their shirts off, desperate to feel skin on skin. "You have no idea-"

Pep wants him to stop talking ( _they were so close_ ), so he claims the other man's lips again, pulling Jurgen down on top of him.

* * *

"You look terrible," Margery informs him bluntly when he enters the office the next day. She had purged the administration building of camera crews- they mostly bothered the physios now.  "Rough night, I suppose."

Pep, long accustomed to her straightforward attitude that bordered on rudeness, didn't understand how she knew. He had felt exuberant in the morning after- technically Jurgen had stirred before dawn, likely eager to drive back to Liverpool- and they had parted with a languorous kiss, not speaking.

He had woken again in the morning to an empty bed. Were it not for the ache in his bones, he would have thought what happened last night was a dream.

There was no mutual agreement between them that this would happen again. Pep hadn't been with a man since a sloppy one-night stand in Mexico when he was a player. 

He gives his head assistant a smile that had gotten him out of trouble back in Santepedor, the one that made him look like butter won't melt in his mouth. 

The redhead frowns at him but does not press on. 

"You have your updated schedule for this week on your desk- the youth academy wants you to come more often."

He waves her away with thanks and settles into his chair. 

* * *

December comes, with win after win for City- 18 consecutive ones- although Pep could sense that his team was tiring. He certainly was. 

Jurgen does not call. 

Pep, more than a little stung, does not call either. 

"We won't go through this season unbeaten," He tells a journalist from BBC Sports after the draw with Crystal Palace. Gabriel was in tears in the first half- he prayed to whatever deity was out there not to make it too serious, he still had to play in the Derby. Kevin's passing accuracy was falling. 

"With City fourteen points ahead of the next club- an outstanding margin- do you think a Premier League title can be secured?"

"I can only hope that the players will be able to do their best to meet the standards of the supporters."

"And you'll have a rematch with Liverpool at Anfield. Is there anything you will do differently this time?"

 _To win again_  is what he thinks the journalist wants to ask. 

Pep offers a tightlipped smile. "We will prepare for the match as usual."

* * *

The noise of Anfield is deafening.

It is without a doubt one of the best grounds in Europe to play at- if you were the home team.

He could feel the tension from his players, different from the cool confidence they had exhibited during the season's games against other teams. Everyone was under pressure to perform. 

Pep knew where the game was going the moment Oxlade-Chamberlain zipped through City's defences like they were nothing, past Ederson, who could only look on slack-jawed as the ball entered the net in the ninth minute. He had spoken many times about the unpredictability of football, that high pressing would be key to cracking Liverpool, but it seemed like their opponents were getting the better of them. 

The rest of the match is like a master-class in _gegenpressing_. 

His assistants fume on the sidelines, even after Sane scores. 

"What is Ederson doing?" Mikel says to him after Liverpool scores twice more within ten minutes.

Brian, usually boisterous when City was in a bad situation, mutters something about defensive errors. 

Pep recalls Jurgen's comment about how he could "win battles, but not the war." This was precisely what Liverpool was doing right now, putting their heart in the game like his players. 

Salah's gorgeous long-ranged strike during the second half gets into the goal, and at that point, City was three down. This is not going well, but they could still come back from behind.

To his players' everlasting credit, they do not give up, making the most of every chance they got. It was a spirited comeback that is sadly not enough. This was their first loss of the season.

Jurgen is beaming at him when the final whistle blows. It is like an arrow to his heart. 

"Congratulations. It was a deserving win."

The taller man wraps him in his arms, his grip a little too tight. His blue eyes flick down to Pep's mouth, before going back up to look into his eyes.

Jurgen ducks his head to murmur in his ear after he pulls Pep closer to him. "You had excellent form." 

It has been more than a month since they had touched. 

He follows that with-

"I don't think we can see each other again."

Pep feels a sudden chill, despite his warm coat. 

It is like his mind is moving through honey. "You- you don't want to-"

"I'm sorry," Jurgen sounds genuinely regretful, and in the embrace, Pep could not see his eyes. Before he realises it, the German is moving away, towards his players, a spring in his step. 

"Chin up, Pep," Brain says in the dressing room afterwards. Pep had just yelled at his players for not wanting it enough, blaming himself for not doing well enough, and he was drained. "This is one loss in a series of wins. We'll come back swinging."

* * *

"You're busier than usual," Margery remarks one night, after a long strategizing session with all his coaches in a conference room. She always stayed until he was finished with work, which was never. 

"We're getting ready for the Derby," Pep knew that Jose would be out for revenge, but was optimistic about playing against United at the Etihad.  

"Goddamn United," His assistant says venomously. "Big game, huh, dun' let us down now."

They were this _close_ to victory. As long as they could beat their neighbours, they would have secured the Premier League title seven games to spare. And then they could deal with the Champions League quarter-finals with Liverpool. 

"I hate going to Anfield," An assistant coach confides in him. Pep looks around quickly. The cameras are near the end of the team bus and did not catch his words.

Outside the safety of the bus, a mob yells and chants, throwing smoke canisters that make the light inside the bus turn an eerie red. His players are nervous again, this time for a UCL match. It did not bode well for their later performance. 

In the dressing room, Pep does his best to warm up the team. 

"You all are many things- many things. Husbands. Fathers. Players. Teammates. But you are not _cowards_." 

"This is Liverpool's ground. They will press, they will attack, but we will fight back. This is the Champions League. We are in the quarter-finals, it is too late to turn back."

Pep rubs his head in worry as Salah scores the first goal in the 12th minute. He and Jurgen are standing close together, though he rarely acknowledged him. 

His players appear dejected in the first half. Liverpool gains two more goals. _What was wrong with his team?_

It was in times like this he wished Kompany felt good enough to play on the pitch in such a crucial game. Maybe he should not have picked Laporte for the left side. He could not contain the Egyptian striker. 

He was going to blow up. Pep could feel his frustration and anger simmering under his skin.  

In the dressing room, he snapped at them, cameras on him. "I cannot believe you guys! Why are you all so slow on the pitch, like you are- as though you wish to die! So imprecise! This is just another game. I did not tear myself away from a humble town in Spain just to grow up and watch this team- my team- play like _shit_. Get yourself together."

He did what he could- he refuses to believe that he could have done more to salvage the game. 

The German pumps his fist into the air when the game ends with a win for Liverpool, ending City's streak. Pep should think it a compliment that he was celebrating this hard when it was still just the first leg, as it was a sign that he did not take anything for granted. Yet he is pissed. 

He does not exchange words with Jurgen, not even when the other man says, "Good game."

The fans bellow insults at Pep as they enter the tunnel, heads bowed.  

* * *

City has no time to catch their breath. They were going to host United soon, and Pep knew what was on the line. 

A victory for them meant they would win the title in a spectacular fashion in front of their supporters. They would set records. It would be a bit like deciding who would win La Liga with  _El Clasico_. 

Vincent and Ilkay score quickly, making use of the space left out by United's defenders. Pep catches Mikel's eyes, the coach looks pensive. 

Jose still had some tricks up his sleeve. 

Pogba was being brilliant- not bad for a player on the French national team. He admits that grudgingly to his assistants on the way back to the dressing room at half-time. 

 _They were losing control._ Pep draws a hand across his face. He yells out loud when Pogba scores. Once, then twice. 

"Get back inside!" He says at the touchline when De Gea makes a great save. "Don't lose control. Stay focused. Stay focused!"

It is a bad day when Pep prays that his team could manage to equalise before the final whistle. 

The Portuguese man looks impossibly smug when they shake hands, clasping his shoulder, but that was how he looked at the end of most matches. 

" _It's not over yet,_ " Jose says to him in Spanish with a dark smirk.

Pep resists the urge to roll his eyes childishly. 

* * *

_The team is not playing with their hearts._

This is what Pep is thinking. He studies the fluid movements of the Liverpool players, clearly rejuvenated by Salah's goal in the 56th minute, compared with the almost desperate way his team was playing. 

Then a goal is disallowed again. 

Pep wants to sigh and instead settles for pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"What a shame," He says to no one, sitting in the stands. 

They had needed to be perfect. 

He had been sent off for insulting at the referee for disallowing Leroy's goal at the end of the first half. Normally, he had a great deal of patience for these things, but it infuriated him when people did not listen to reason. The ball was not off-side.

When Firmino scores, Pep places his face in his hands.

It was all over, and he did nothing to stop it. He could do nothing in the stands.

This was like Bayern all over again, without reaching the Champions League finals, City would never be acknowledged as the best team in the world, much less Europe. 

Pep heads down the stairs, where Klopp seems to be waiting for him. 

"You have the best team in the world," Klopp says, shaking his hand. He smiles, showing a flash of white teeth. "Good game."

"Thank you," Pep replies after a moment. They were still holding hands. He could see the fading tanline on Klopp's ring finger where his wedding band used to be. "Good luck in the semi-finals."

It is night and the stadium is empty, still brightly-lit. Pep had been in awe of how large the Etihad was when he first arrived, though it had nothing on Camp Nou's history. 

He visits the owner alone in his VIP box.

The Sheikh is looking out of the windows when he enters, his features illuminated by the harsh light.  

Mansour never fails to unnerve Pep, even more so without his entourage.

He thought that pouring money into a football club would make them win awards, but that was not often the case. Top talent does not equal results. 

Football, the human aspect of it, gets injured and exhausted. 

"It was a good first half," Mansour says. "It was clean."

"Thank you," Pep says.

"Were you trying to get sent off?"

"No. I was being reasonable."

"Don't let this happen next time. I believe that our team can win the Champions League, but only if they have a good manager by their side."

Pep does not apologize. 

"You have done well in the Premier League. We will break records," Mansour continues smoothly. "The Board will approve all your transfers once they have been reviewed and evaluated by the staff."

More money.

"This is what, his seventh win against you?" Pep realises that he is talking about Klopp. "He has not won as many competitions as you had- where is he from? Germany? But he has the better head-to-head record."

He nods. 

There is silence. 

"I wonder," Mansour drags out the words. "What is it about Jurgen Klopp that disturbs you so much?"

 _Everything_ , Pep wants to say but knows that Mansour would not understand. 

"His technique... is not so different from mine."

Mansour gives him an unreadable look, before turning back to the window. "We all have our weaknesses."

* * *

He banishes all thoughts of Mansour or Klopp from his mind.

Pep plays golf at the training grounds while Manchester United played West Brom. It was going to give City the title if they lost today. 

Swinging a club against a screen was different from playing golf on the field, but at least he could relax without anyone bothering him. None of his colleagues liked to play golf.

"United lost."

Margery is grinning at him as she delivers the news later that day. 

Pep holds her to him. This was a great moment, especially after those three defeats. Their hard work had paid off. 

He dashes to the changing room, past beaming workers who shout their congratulations, where his players and coaches had gathered. 

Pep hugs his trio of coaches- without them, he could not have made it through this tough season. 

Domenic, Mikel, and Brian are shouting at him all at once in Spanish and English. 

"We've done it-"

" _Finally won_ -"

"- _Pep, you are brilliant_ -"

Everyone was smiling, congratulating each other loudly. Someone had opened a bottle of champagne with a pop.

One of Brian's assistants hands him a thin glass of champagne. Pep takes it gladly. 

The players, the heart of this fantastic team, seemed to glow from happiness. Kevin and Raheem are moving towards him, arms outstretched.

Pep is satisfied.

* * *

They end the season with 100 points- a shiny new Premier League record to add to Pep's existing ones. 

"I don't think I'm the greatest manager in the world," He says honestly to a Telegraph reporter moments after Manchester City was awarded their third Premier League trophy. "England is very competitive, and the league is filled with great coaches. We have achieved something unique. The level is higher now."

"It's still a job well done," The man says with a bright smile. The feeling of fulfilment is contagious, it seems. 

"The squad will not be lazy, we will not be complacent," Pep says to another reporter. "This achievement may not be repeated again. We will focus on the next game."

During the parade, with the city of Manchester blue and the sky above them a vivid azure, Pep waves to the jubilant crowd, holding the trophy up high. Vincent is holding the Carabao Cup trophy at his side, smiling from ear to ear. 

Deep down, he hopes Klopp is watching, trophyless after losing the Champions League final. That everyone was watching. 

* * *

At the Premier League end of the season awards, he wins Manager of the Season. 

It is certainly a great achievement, being the first Spaniard to win the award. However, he wanted to go home, back to his children who were staying with him now that the season was ending. 

"Congratulations," Jurgen says to him, devastating in an all-black suit. Pep had no idea how many times someone had said it to him tonight, but it feels different coming from his former lover. "It was a marvellous season."

"Thank you."

The German begins to walk away. Pep is inclined to let him, to put down the heavy award and move to speak to another nominee- perhaps Sean Dyche- but he does not.

"Wait!"

This draws the attention of a few other people. Pep ignores them, crossing the short distance. 

The taller man stares down at him impassively, though Pep thinks he detects a hint of _something_ in his light blue eyes. It gives him hope as he summons his courage. 

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" He says softly, so no one would hear. 

Jurgen exhales. 

He waits for an answer, his heart rate speeding up.

"You never had to ask."

* * *

 

> _"It seems then that no matter how many stars Guardiola has at his disposal, the quest for an 'invincible' season will remain a mystery so long as Klopp is also present, considering the City manager has failed to complete a full term while in the same league as the German without tasting defeat from the current Liverpool manager."_
> 
> **ESPN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave me some kudos for sustenance
> 
> references (because i do them all the time for school and now im going to do this for this fic)  
> \- [article about pre-season man city tactics](https://www.fourfourtwo.com/news/same-manager-same-tactics-better-players-guardiola-lays-out-man-city-blueprint)  
> \- [ video about pep and mou's relationship that i found interesting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQa4u4dLxCk)  
> \- [ guardian article: liverpool v man city 0-5](https://www.theguardian.com/football/live/2017/sep/09/manchester-city-v-liverpool-premier-league-live)  
> \- [ klopp and guardiola head-to-head record](https://inews.co.uk/sport/football/champions-league/liverpool-vs-manchester-city-klopp-record-guardiola/)  
> - bbc article on united vs city (3-2)  
> figured out how to do lists now
> 
>   * was thinking about pairing pep and jose up for some past pepmou but then i was like nah
>   * _viva la vida_ by coldplay is one of pep's fav songs like for real he used to play it when he was at barca- this was mentioned in his biography (that i read bc i just have Too Much time before finals)
>   * let's get this pining started
>   * look i watch football once a while, i'm not obsessed with it- i don't even play the game 
>   * all or nothing gave me life
>   * have never been to Manchester in my life so idk if they have quiet, hole-in-the-wall cafes with an instagram aesthetic 
>   * i write the shittiest romance
>   * it's so weird writing 'jurgen' over and over again bc i usually just say 'klopp' irl. btw how do they talk
>   * guardiola and klopp are both bisexual in this story
>   * ok maybe pep liked filming all or nothing, as a club outsider, i don't know 
>   * so in klopp's autocomplete interview, I think there's a part where he says that he doesn't call people a lot
>   * i actually think mansour (nominal owner of manchester city) is 'nicer' irl but am not going to do any research into that bc finals and bc he's p [shady](https://medium.com/@NcGeehan/the-men-behind-man-city-a-documentary-not-coming-soon-to-a-cinema-near-you-14bc8e393e06)
>   * in the first fantastic beasts movie, grindelwald-as-graves says to newt "I wonder what makes Albus Dumbledore so fond of you" and I had to steal part of that for this fic
>   * remind me never to write in-depth conversations about football
>   * if i ever have the chance to meet either of them, i will literally cry
>   * in my life, I have had one (1) intimate moment with someone
>   * this story is veering into teen-rated territory
> 



	4. imperishable things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18/19 season.
> 
> The closest title race we've seen in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told myself i would finish this by the champions league final and yeah i hope i meet this deadline. what did I just write- (liverpool won!!! Pep called Klopp afterwards and said he would "kick their butts next season"! This is their world and we are just living in it) 
> 
> hmu if you want an epilogue. otherwise, this story is finished.
> 
> this is dedicated to all the readers who dared venture into this corner of the fandom. ily <3

> _"What we've got here is a failure to communicate."_
> 
> **Cool Hand Luke (film)**

* * *

Pep dreams of Spain. 

In his dreams, the golden beach along the coast is empty. The sea glitters in front of him, reflecting the fiery sunset. A light breeze carries a salty scent. The sand is soft beneath his feet. He could stay here forever, at peace.

When he turns away, he is alone in the square of his hometown. Without looking down, he knows what would be at his feet.

Even in his dreams, he cannot escape football. It calls to him like a familiar melody.

Someone is calling to him. It sounds like his mother.

" _Jose_! _Come_ _back_!"

He wakes, shaken by his thoughts, and sighs. 

He could see that it was still dark outside. Sleeping pills were no longer enough to make him sleep until the day came. 

Pep pulls the covers over himself tighter until he is wrapped in them like a warm cocoon, trying to drift back to sleep. 

Next to him, a man stirs, grumbling. 

Jurgen coughs. 

Normally the German slept like a log, but Pep thinks he is getting used to being awoken by the smallest of sounds in the night. 

Pep is a light sleeper.

"Go back to sleep," Pep says to him softly, not sure if Jurgen was really awake or just half-lucid. 

He feels his lover wrap a heavy arm around his waist, pulling Pep closer to him, likely wanting to take the covers back. It makes him feel safe. 

"You first," Jurgen murmurs sleepily, breath tickling the back of Pep's neck. 

And he does.

* * *

A few days later, he makes breakfast in his London flat- pancakes and scrambled eggs for his children, toast and a salad for him. 

Pep is thinking of which players to start in the midfield when he gets a call from Mauricio. He wanted to meet for dinner tonight and was calling to confirm the location. 

It is characteristic of the Argentinian to be cautious when he approaches Pep.

After all, their 'rivalry' in La Liga and Pep's own loss to the Spurs in his first game against them would not be easily forgotten.

Still, Pep hopes that it would be water under the bridge. The Premier League was incredibly stressful, and a fierce hatred between managers would only add to that. He had brought up the dinner meeting himself at the End of Season awards. 

He would rather build bridges than destroy them, unlike a certain manager. 

Mauricio is waiting for him at the table when Pep arrives, having dropped off his children for a sleepover with two of his trusted friends in Chelsea. 

The atmosphere is a little awkward in the beginning, with Mauricio speaking at a mile-a-minute on modern Spanish poetry and strangely, Game of Thrones.

Pep, who has never watched an episode of that show in his life, and was not planning to start, nods along, sipping his wine.  

"How has your break been?" Mauricio asks him after making a point about Borges that Pep agrees with. 

"I've been busy getting the team together for another season. These are days that will test City's defenses and attacking capabilities."

"You can count on competition from Tottenham," The other man grins at him good-naturedly, relaxing a little. "We've been preparing just as hard- if not harder- than you have. You will have to defend your title."

"Then I look forward to our meetings in the League."

"And what of Klopp?"

Pep pauses. This was an unusual direction to take the conversation. 

"He seems confident that his side can win. Everyone says that he will be your biggest competitor," Mauricio clarifies. 

He thinks about the risk sometimes. _How could they be together when in public they were seen as great enemies? How could they still stay together without being torn apart by the game?_

"Well," Pep says carefully. "He is an extremely exciting manager with an excellent team on an upward trajectory. He reached the Champions League final last season, you know. This season he will want more. And I will be waiting."

Mauricio seems satisfied. 

The Spurs head coach is good company with a good taste in restaurants. It is curious to watch him toe the line between being self-assured and deeply shy. He clearly admires Pep, or at least he is in awe of Guardiola the manager and Catalonian icon. 

"I don't think Tottenham can stand up to Liverpool," He admits to Pep in his lilting Spanish. "I have not made any transfers this summer. We have the passion and the boldness, but Liverpool's attacking 4-3-3 may be too much for us to handle."

"It could be best to fight fire with fire. You have to frustrate them. Build up from the back and limit their spaces. But it all comes down to the players. The toughest games are won by players."

* * *

"What's this I hear about you meeting with Pochettino?" Jurgen remarks after lunch when they are sitting on the couch. They were in a small, homey flat Pep had rented in Warrington, which is a small town situated between Liverpool and Manchester. 

It is one of his rare afternoons off, and he is spending it with Jurgen.

"I was being friendly," Pep shrugs.

"What did you talk about?"

"General things. Tactics. TV shows and books. Other teams."

A pause. 

"He's not a bad manager. Far from the worse. Look at what he's done with Kane and Dele. Took them from unknowns to English nationals. That takes intelligence."

"Mmm," Pep hums, not looking up from his book. 

Jurgen laces his callused fingers with Pep's free hand. "I met my ex-wife and my son yesterday. They're staying for a few days in England before going back to Germany."

Pep glances at him. "Ulla?"

He nods.

"I think it's good that you parted with her on friendly terms," Unlike Pep and Christina, who had lasted barely more than a year together. 

"This does not make me bad at love, does it? To have been divorced twice?"

They had never discussed the subject of _love_ before. And even if they did, Pep was no expert of romantic love. 

"It doesn't."

"Good, because I think I'm in love with you."

Pep blinks.

Jurgen looks at him expectantly, blue eyes tender behind clear frames. Pep is unsure how to respond to a simple declaration like this, in an environment like this, to a person like this, who felt every emotion so strongly and opened up to everyone so entirely. 

It had been only three months since they had turned their friendship into an actual relationship. _Am I ready for this?_

So he quickly grabs Jurgen's face with both hands and kisses him hard on the lips.

Jurgen sighs deeply into his mouth before hooking his arms under Pep's legs and carrying him to the bedroom.

Only later does Pep remember that he did not actually give the German an actual response. 

* * *

"Hello, Margery!" Pep says brightly after the match with Arsenal. They had won, marking a great start to the season for the Cityzens. "And mini-Margery."

HR had hired another personal secretary for Pep to work directly alongside him in the office, someone a little younger than Margery. Polly Kensington was dark-skinned and had thick, curly hair that she would smooth down unconsciously when nervous. 

Polly gives him a dark look. Pep had only been teasing. 

"Good morning, gaffer," Margery greets him, scowl disappearing. "Nice match last night."

_Who was he, if not a winner?_

"Thank you."

"Schedule's on your desk. Interview with one of our reporters at two. Mr Borrell wants you to take a look at the attackers during their training session. A closer look this time. Mikel wants us to remind you to have lunch with the first team today."

"Just a drop by would be nice. His exact words," Polly adds. 

Pep dips his head. 

* * *

They go to the top of the table after beating Brighton 2-0 with goals from Kun. Liverpool had drawn with Chelsea to ensure that City could get to first place. 

"Already tired?" Pep had said to Jurgen jokingly during a brief post-match phone call. 

"Laugh all you want," Pep thinks he sounded exhausted over the phone. "My boys are coming for you."

The match with Liverpool next week is the first time they have met face-to-face after Jurgen told Pep he loved him, both being too preoccupied with work to schedule a date. Maybe the other man thought differently about their relationship after the time apart. 

Once again they shake hands before the game against the backdrop of screaming fans. This fixture had been touted as the match of the season and Pep hoped that his team would not disappoint. 

He knows Jurgen's would not, despite all the Liverpool players that had gone on the international break.

"We can't afford any mistakes," Mikel had said to him on the bus. "This is going to be a two-horse race."

"It's too early to tell," Was Pep's reply. 

He now thought otherwise, looking at how both teams were playing. 

Rarely were both teams so evenly matched, especially in the Premier League. There was so much back-and-forth going on, with shots on the target from Mahrez, but no goals. Liverpool players did not exhibit any of their usual attacking style. 

He had changed his tactics just to accommodate the anticipated flurry of attacks. Pep was being as cautious as Jurgen was, it seemed. 

Anfield is quiet in the second half as the game drags on with both sides finding it difficult to gain ground.

The match ends with an almost disappointing nil-nil draw.

Pep is still upset by how City's last-minute goal did not materialise. Mahrez had missed a penalty- he would have to check up on that technique with Brian. 

Jurgen looks subdued when they embrace at the end.

"Such an _intense_ game," He says to Pep, gaze impassive. "Well done."

"Good game. I'll see you soon."

* * *

After the Champions League group match with Shakhtar Donetsk, Pep arrives in his office to find that his whiteboard has been replaced, complete with new markers. He would not have noticed the change if there hadn't been a hideous blue bow stuck on the surface.

_What the fuck._

He pokes his head out of the office.

"I did not ask for a new whiteboard. I was happy with my old one."

Polly, his second assistant, answers swiftly. "The Board thought you might need one. It's one of the more costly, fancy whiteboards, apparently."

Pep misses the days when a manager like Johan Cruyff could use simple chalk and a blackboard to outline his match plan. None of these branded, expensive dry erase boards were involved.

He is about to go back into his office to use the gift when Polly pipes up.

"Liverpool's head coach's assistant coach called."

Pep's heart skips half a beat. 

"I thought Margery took all my calls."

Polly gestures to the redhead's empty cubicle, reaching a hand upward to flatten her hair. "She's at the dentist."

"Okay- what does Klopp want to talk to me about?"

The woman looks at a blue, heart-shaped post-it. 

"Something about transfers. The head of player management over there wants to talk to us about selling a player."

"And they called me? It's not my job to deal with the early stages of a transfer."

"I just took the message, Mr Guardiola."

"Did you refer them to our own player management department?"

Polly is silent.

Pep takes that as a _no_.

"Don't worry, I'll have James give them a callback," Pep says. "Thanks for telling me, Polly."

"Why did you assume Klopp would call you personally?"

"Um," he responds eloquently and makes a speedy exit into his office.

* * *

"You still haven't given me an answer, Pep," Jurgen says. 

They are strolling in a park at the outskirts of Liverpool on a frosty November morning, a few days before December and the most gruelling games of the season began.

It is so cold in the North that Pep is bundled up with gloves and a navy blue scarf. Jurgen, the cold-resistant German, is wearing a straight-cut black coat. At least he was not wearing a puffer jacket, which was bound to get them noticed. 

Pep does not say anything and links his right arm into Jurgen's daringly. The other man lets him with a surprised huff. 

To outsiders, they may either seem like _really_ good friends or a couple. 

"I am really in love with you. It is an unfamiliar feeling, to love a man."

"You sound certain."

"I am. You are truly special. Like the kids say, 'don't leave me hangin'.'"

Part of the problem coaching players a few decades younger than they were was that they picked up on English phrases that sound funny coming out of their mouths.

"It's only been a few months. I promise that I will give you a proper answer, eventually."

"And I will wait for you."

"Once I sort through my things."

"You always have a million things to deal with, _bärchen_."

"So do you."

"It's not easy maintaining a work-life balance when you are responsible for a football club. I think you do it quite well. You just have to slow down."

_If Pep slowed down, how would they win the title with Liverpool playing the way they were?_

A gust of cold wind blows into his face, and he automatically moves closer to the taller man. 

Jurgen seems to read Pep's mind, because he says after a while of silence, walking past faceless strangers, "Do you want to go inside?"

They walk slowly to a nearby bistro. 

"I'm glad you beat Mourinho at the Derby."

Pep had hardly given the win a second thought after it had happened, preferring to declare victory and then forget about it. Jose had probably been furious after that game, with United suffering from careless mistakes. 

"We deserved it."

"Mourinho is not doing well this season, I think."

"It was a bad performance," Pep knew that United was definitely out of the title race because of that slow start. Their manager might get the sack soon. "Jose might be losing his touch. And his players are not playing at the level they need to be."

"All these years, and you still call him _Jose_."

Pep rubs a hand over his head. "He likes to think we were friends- once."

"He is a _scoundrel_."

Pep laughs. Jurgen looks at him, an odd expression on his face.

"Sorry," he says. "You just sounded so _offended_. And we aren't friends anymore, sometimes- not after all the bad blood in Spain. But we try to be polite to each other."

"We won't be like that," muses Jurgen.

Pep could not imagine it. He wouldn't let that happen to this fragile thing they had. Perhaps that was love. 

"Of course not."

* * *

Pep celebrates the New Year with his family in Manchester. His parents and siblings had flown over for the special occasion. 

His father is retelling a story about Pep falling into a fountain when he was a young child while playing football in the streets. Of course, he exaggerates the part about him nearly drowning. It still makes his sisters laugh.

His son looks embarrassed on his behalf. His daughters were playing with their cousins in the living room.  

The house feels fuller than it had in a long time. 

“You have that look on your face, brother.”

Pep schools his expression into one of general innocence. “What look?”

His sister does not fall for it. “You’ve met someone. You’re all moony-eyed."

Pep has not heard that word from Francesca since he met his former wife for the first time. 

“No I’m not.”

”Yes, you are,” says Olga, holding a cup of brandy that Pep had no idea he had. He wasn’t the type to drink brandy, it was likely that his sister had bought her own. “He’s distracted. He has his phone on the table.”

Thank God his mother was not around to hear this, being in the kitchen preparing dinner. 

"I’m just thinking about the game. My phone is here for work. We have a long way to go until May."

"It's some game you’re thinking of," says Francesca, amused. "Look, he’s gone pale."

"I have not."

"The more you deny it, the more it’s true."

"You’re missing her," adds Olga.

It is better for his family to assume that he was straight. 

"Has Jose met someone?" His father says, joining in. "You should have brought her to the Christmas dinner."

"I-" he wants to protest. "Yes."

Francesca is triumphant. "So you have met someone."

"You can say it like that."

"Seduced by your charms, I suppose."

"Dubious charms," says Olga with a smile.

"I hope you didn’t scare her off," his father says.

"No."

"Then it’s going well?"

"Maybe."

His sisters stand to help their husbands set the table. 

"She must be really special to turn your head. You did say you would swear off women after Cristina."

Pep chuckles bitterly. 

His father turns concerned. 

"Is she good to you?"

He hesitates.

"Yes."

"Does she like football?"

"Very much."

"Then I’m glad that you have met someone new. You’ve been getting stressed in England. Is it serious?"

"Too early to tell."

"It’s about time you settled down again."

"Don’t tell Mama."

His father winks at him.

* * *

Pep is quite sure that the season is going well.

"The players are getting fatigued."

This is what Mikel says to him during a training session on the grounds. 

Pep too, was worried about the physical health of his players. If they fell behind now, they would be crushed by Liverpool.

"How bad is it?"

"John and Kevin have sore legs. They might not be able to cover long distances."

"They still have to play. How is morale?"

"Vinny is not as tired as before. Fernandinho is going to play. The whole team is feeling buzzed- hopefully better than they felt in December. There are no complaints about the training. Everyone wants to win very badly."

"That is a good mentality."

They chat about tactics for the upcoming matches in January for a while, when Mikel asks, "How are you doing, Pep?"

Pep does not want to talk about himself- he misses Jurgen and wants the quadruple. They would meet tomorrow at the Etihad for another match.

"I am fine."

"The club just wants us to win against Liverpool to get to first place later on. That we should give them their first defeat of the season."

"The Sheikh told you this personally?"

Mikel inhales sharply, his eyes showing slight displeasure. "He's a slimy fellow, that one. I appreciate the Board's desire to win trophies, but saying things like this only adds to the pressure on the players."

"I think we work well under pressure."

"Your record against Klopp is your worst against all Premier League coaches."

"That doesn't show anything."

"What are we going to do differently this time?"

Pep watches Raheem practise free kicks over and over again with the assistant coaches. _He has a good technique._

The player sees them walking in the distance and waves cheerily. 

"Pep?"

"We have to put 100% of our effort into that game. Use their tactics against them," He tilts his head, thinking. "This will define our season and how we win the title."

* * *

It is telling just how much the rest of England were anticipating this clash by how loud the fans were shouting in the stadium and how many journalists were at the pre-match press conference.

Pep just hopes they could manage a win by targetting Lovren. 

"This is crazy."

Pep turns his head to Brian, who has a hand over his mouth. Their players were forcing a Liverpool midfielder towards the ball, making their tight formation crack. The first half was playing at a ferocious tempo. 

Their enemy has found their aggressive edge again, but City were ready for them.

"This is football."

Jurgen changes his formation, playing into City's hands. Pep's stomach turns when the opposition equalises, but not for long. 

Leroy scores, a beautiful one with his left foot. His players rush towards him to celebrate.

Pep sits up straighter. They were forcing Liverpool to concede. _This has to be it._

When the final whistle blows, Pep rises to his feet, hugging his assistants, heart hammering in his chest. It had been a tense game, and now it was over. 

His counterpart struck him as stormy. He could not have taken the loss well. The margins between their teams had just shrunk.

"Congratulations," Jurgen says stiffly. His hand is hot. "It was a deserved win."

"Thank you," Pep replies. "This was a great game."

* * *

Jurgen had asked him once in their small, shared flat, as far from prying eyes as possible. 

"What if you lost to us?"

Pep looks down to meet Jurgen's eyes. The other man had laid his head down in his lap without his glasses, and would doubtlessly start napping in a while. 

"To Liverpool? You think highly of yourselves."

"I'm being serious."

"I would be unhappy, for sure- I don't like to lose- but I would move on. If you could successfully defeat us, that means you had the better team. I would not be angry with you if that is what you are afraid of."

The funny thing about Jurgen was that he could be insecure about the smallest issues. Pep, who was so attracted to his optimism and brilliance when it came to a bold style of play, did not like that side of him. He strokes the other man's hair. 

"I do not- I think I would be the opposite."

"You do hold grudges."

"Yes. I can be a sore loser," Pep strokes his hair lightly, humming.

"Not against you, though," Jurgen goes on to say after a moment. "You are too distracting."

* * *

Jurgen freezes him out.

For all his talk about Manchester City being the best team in the world, Pep didn't understand what was going on. He wasn't going to apologize for winning.

And then pictures of the Liverpool head coach with his divorced wife surface in The Sun.

He tries not to let it hurt him.

_Didn't he say that he loved me?_

Thankfully this does not affect how he does his job too badly. He had worked without Jurgen's influence before, and he would do it again. City still had months worth of games to plan for. Pep's life would go on without this. 

He carries on paying the rent for the flat every month. 

During December, Pep had been grateful that they had drawn Schalke in the Round of 16. He had a far better feeling about winning games against them. It was practically a given, though he did not say that in front of his team. 

On the flight back from Germany, while his colleagues were asleep or watching footage of the game with their headphones in, even though they would most likely advance comfortably after the second leg in Manchester, Pep wonders where it could have all gone wrong with Jurgen. 

Maybe they just hadn't fit together, sneaking around England like they were going to get caught at any moment. Some relationships were just not meant to be. 

And it was his fault.

They had _almost_ made it to another level of mutual trust and affection, and Pep had backed out, scared of vulnerability. He could not have laid his soul bare in front of Jurgen because he had spent so much time building up this careful image of a man at ease with everything, a man who knows what he is going is right, a man who is the best coach in the world. He did not want to throw it aside for anyone. 

Still, after all that, Pep could see himself loving Jurgen back. 

This was a revelation that came too late. 

"You look like you're about to shit yourself," Rodolfo says to him indelicately. "Stop thinking, and pay attention to this."

* * *

For Pep, every match stood out, each with their own colours and remarkable moments. Now they seemed to blur together into something that was no longer exciting. 

Margery, sensing his mopiness despite City's current position in first place on the table, keeps making him cups of tea and puts plates of biscuits on his table. 

"Don't starve yourself to death before the end of this season," says Margery. "You'd only be hurting yourself, and what good would that do to the team?"

It doesn't get boring for long though, because Liverpool was keen on making sure the race lasted until the last day. 

"These guys," Mikel shakes his head. "They aren't going to give up easily."

Pep knows that his right-hand man was just as electrified as they lock horns with their title rivals.  

"That's what makes them a good team. And we have to do the same. We cannot lose our momentum now. Especially with the Champions League matches coming up."

He is appreciative of how spacious and modern White Hart Lane is and glad that it was finally opened after so many delays. Pep dislikes Wembley, a stadium that was old and rattling.  

He is less appreciative of the somewhat hostile environment. The Spurs fans were less pumped to see the City team than their own players. 

"Good luck, Mauricio," he says diplomatically, hiding his irritation. "I really like the new arena."

"Ah! It is big, no?" The Argentinean man smiles slightly. "Good luck to you as well!"

_What made him choose Delph as a left-back? We're suffocating down there._

The game goes into Spur's favour when Kun's penalty shot goes wide.

A lot of football comes down to spirit and luck, and the Spurs had that elusive element tonight. Pep wonders if he had revealed too much of himself to Mauricio when they had dinner together. 

"Don't be stupid! Don't go left!" He hollers at his players. "Set piece!  _Offensive_ set piece!"

At half-time, Pep is seriously frustrated. The game was not supposed to be nil-nil at this stage. They had played well against Tottenham in their previous games, but something was going on. 

He doesn't go into the dressing room. He had told his players exactly what needed to be done beforehand. They did not listen to his instructions and he did not need to mother them. Mikel and Brian would have to pick up the slack. 

Harry Kane gets himself injured. Delph had landed on his ankle and the Tottenham striker had shaken his head afterwards. 

Pep knows that it is bad when he is helped off the pitch by two officials. He feels sorry, but maybe this would work for his team. 

"Are they going to play better now?"

Dom looks grim. They had just subbed Gabriel on, which was his suggestion to boost City's offensive play. "Wait and see."

Son scores and the stadium erupts into cheers. Pep puts a hand on his chin.

The South Korean national had been playing exceptionally throughout the whole season, thanks to Mauricio, who had the talent of getting the most out of his players.  

And that reminds him of Klopp. Pep snorts inwardly and turns back to the game.

* * *

Pep's quadruple dream is falling away slowly but surely, like sand through his fingers.

The team just wasn't in it tonight, but in a way neither was he. Pep and his staff would have to work out what to do next week for the second leg. It would be easy enough to overturn a one-goal deficit. Mauricio had not met his eyes afterwards.

"If VAR wasn't involved," Mikel says with a sigh. His friend had been doing that a lot lately. “The match could have ended quite differently.”

"Back in my day," Rodolfo starts, imitating the other coach. "We just had arguments with the fourth official and bullied them into accepting the goal."

It is with an overwhelming feeling of hope that Pep enters into the Etihad on the day of the big game. Maybe this season was their season, and he would reach the first Champions League final of his career since Barca. 

"Is there anything more I should do, Pep?" Kun asks him in the dressing room as they went through the final team talk. 

"Nothing more. Nothing more you can do. Go out there, and play with your hearts. Play the best game in your lives. Don't mess with their players. _Win_ for Manchester."

He greets his London counterpart with a friendly handshake before kick-off. 

"Mauricio."

"Pep," The other man says politely, eyes filled with determination. "Good luck."

It is a frantic game, with five goals scored in the time it took Pep to breathe. _Now, this was a game._

On the sidelines, he often felt agony, because he did not know the real pulse of the game without _living_ it. Being a manager gave him a different perspective. 

"Time to pull off a comeback."

He looks at his second-in-command. "You don't say."

In the 94th minute, Raheem scores, completing a hat trick. 

Pep lets out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in, jumping up with the joy of the moment. 

This was it. A place in the semi-finals was secured. The City machine would march on.

Then he sees it. The referee was making the VAR gesture. 

"It's been disallowed!" Someone was shouting, their voice overpowering the cheers of the fans. "Offside!"

The screens show the official decision.

 **NO GOAL**.

He falls to his knees, hands on his head, overcome by a feeling of despair. Of grief. 

They had done all of this meticulous preparation and it was inadequate. That meant Pep was inadequate. 

To be ruled out by a cruel machine. 

And it had only been a few inches. 

The players were upset at this unpredictable situation- most of them had hoped to make up for their loss at this stage to Liverpool last season. To lose out on Champions League glory like this was unbearable. 

Pep holds them as some shed tears in the dressing room.

A trickle runs down his cheek and was quickly wiped away. He could not hold it back.  

He thanks all the staff in sight on the way to the press conference.

For some reason, they do not seem unhappy to see him. They were incredibly comforting.

He goes home to an empty house.

* * *

"Chairman wants a meeting with everyone," says Polly the day after, wearing a sky-blue blouse. She looks sympathetic. "Finances."

"No elaboration?"

"None. Just repeating what his secretary told me."

With Khaldoon, 'finances' could mean anything. Everything here costs money, including losses in quarter-finals of the biggest competition in Europe. 

He calls Jurgen post-meeting, and when his cellphone doesn't pick up, he directly tries his office where he is kindly told to call again another time by Liverpool's Margery. _Would Mr Guardiola prefer to leave a message?_

He doesn't, for the record- Pep is not that desperate. 

And no, he isn't expecting a call back from Jurgen. 

* * *

He watches from a distance when Liverpool lose terribly in Barcelona. The ugly jealousy simmering in his gut dies down, but only a little. 

He is proud of Messi for his achievements that night. He carried the team. It seemed so long ago when the man had still been a young adult, unsure of his abilities and only wanting to play football. Years later he had grown into an amazing player whose skills with the ball were unmatched. The greatest of all time.

"Watch the match last night?" John shouts to Kyle during training, passing the ball to him neatly with his right foot. 

Pep cannot help but overhear them. 

"Yeah. Was alright."

"Liverpool lost. Never thought I'd cheer so hard for a Spanish team. "

They couldn't have done any better, to be honest."

"Shame on them then."

"It's Barcelona, you know."

The two laugh, like that was the answer to everything.  

A younger assistant coach- Brian's apprentice from the South- says before the dissection of their match with Leicester two nights ago. "If any team can overturn a third-nil deficit against Barcelona, it's Klopp's Liverpool at Anfield."

Carles, the video analyst, scoffs. "You could be a pundit with that mouth on you, boy."

Pep secretly agrees with the apprentice. 

He sends a message to Jurgen at night.  

_We need to talk. Please call me._

* * *

When he switches on the television, Liverpool has already scored twice and are leading. Pep puts aside his remaining work and pours himself a glass of wine. 

If there was any time for a miracle, now would be it. 

As a Barcelona supporter- something that remained constant no matter what club he was at- Pep was not feeling confident with how the match was going. Messi and his lot seemed to be at a loss. 

Liverpool was playing the way Pep had wanted Barca to play in his last season with them- like every game was their last, so they might as well make it count. 

 _This is Klopp at his finest_ , Pep thinks, breaking down Liverpool's tactics by grabbing a pen and a notepad. The Reds may never play so passionately again. It was the same strategy they used in the first leg, only with more hunger.  

Drowning out the commentators' stunned remarks as Wijnaldum scores again, is the ecstatic roar of the Anfield fans. 

Pep knows that Barca seldom did badly under pressure, especially these world-class players, but this was one of those nights. Liverpool had almost never been beaten at home this season. They were not going to start now.

It is unexpected when Trent Alexander-Arnold spots Origi in the box- Pep had barely caught it himself- and for the boy to have the wits to send the ball to him from the corner?

Pep was shocked. That was _smart_.

He watches the entire team, arms around each other, sing their club anthem with their supporters. This renewed hope had been Jurgen's doing. 

Liverpool won, without Salah or Firmino, against one of the best teams in Europe, and were going to the Champions League finals. What an unbelievable night.

* * *

The doorbell rings.

_Wait- the doorbell?_

Pep stirs, jolting awake from an uneasy slumber. The clock on the bedside table tells him that it is past two in the morning- an ungodly hour to be out. 

The doorbell rings sharply. 

It was not his imagination then.

He puts on his robe and slippers, quickly running through the list of people who knew his home address, mind groggy from sleep. It would not be one of his players, or colleagues. Not his family or friends either.

_Could it be an intruder?_

A break-in would have triggered the alarms. 

He walks down the stairs slowly, already irate. 

Pep switches on the hallway light.

The doorbell rings again, insistently. 

Pep yanks open the door, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. 

"Oh."

He blinks. 

He must be going mad. That could not be Jurgen Klopp standing on his porch, smelling of alcohol and sweat. Beyond him, a car is parked haphazardly on the driveway, headlights still on. 

Pep rubs at his eyes. 

Under the light of the porch lamp, the German stares down at him, gaze cool but impatient, the corner of his mouth quirked up. The bastard was smiling. 

_How dare he-_

He summons his anger. 

"What-"

A thousand responses die on his tongue when Jurgen leans down and kisses him, placing a hand on his waist. It is a restrained kiss, as though he was barely holding in his giddiness. 

He had missed this intimacy during sleepless nights. 

Pep kisses him back, wrapping his arms around the other man's neck. It was easy to recall the most comfortable position.

Then he remembers where they were. Who this was.

Pep pushes him away, shaking all over.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in the middle of the night? Why did you come here? Are you drunk?"

"On victory," Jurgen grins again, though he looks slightly hurt. "I wanted to see you."

"In the middle of the night?" Pep repeats.

"You told me to call you."

"On the phone! Like a civilized person."

"I am here now."

"Not today. Shouldn't you be- go celebrate with your team!"

”You sent a text that said we needed to talk last week. I sent you a thumbs-up emoji.”

Which Pep had not seen because he had accidentally deleted Jurgen’s number.

“Not on my doorstep, you- you _boij_.” 

"Hmm."

"I thought I was going to be robbed."

"By a person ringing the doorbell?"

"You- I-" It was both too late and too early to talk to anyone, much less Jurgen Klopp fresh from a victory against Barcelona. “You are _frustrating_. Go away.”

”Would you rather I throw rocks at your bedroom window?”

”We are both grown men, Jurgen. If you throw a rock at my Italian glass windows, I will have you arrested.”

”You’re always so generous when you’ve just awoken, Bärchen.”

They stand there, looking at each other, waiting for one to make the next move. 

Pep supposes it is his turn to make a grand gesture. 

“Come inside,” he says grudgingly. 

It feels like ages since he had shown the German his house in Manchester. They head to the living room, not speaking. The air between them crackles with tension.

Pep sits down on the couch where this foolish thing was started, crossing his arms.

”Talk to me, Pep,” Jurgen pleads. 

He sighs, exhausted.

_He comes into my home, unannounced, and commands me to talk. Always expecting me to give more than I can._

“I had wanted to, after our match, but you grew so distant. I thought you were jealous of us.”

”I needed to have my own space. And you know I don’t use my phone to call people.”

”Which is your problem.”

”I expected you to call. I had calmed down- you know I do, eventually.”

”I thought you were mad about losing to Manchester City. To me.”

”I’m always angry for a moment after a poor performance. But I didn’t deserve that treatment.”

”What treatment?”

Jurgen was acting like it was Pep who had wronged him, not the other way around. This was not the apology he was dreaming of. 

“You became colder after I told you- truthfully, because I am an honest man- that I loved you. You never called or replied to my text for four months. I thought you wanted to break things off. Maybe you even hated me. I thought about it constantly."

”I just wasn’t prepared yet.”

”And I was willing to wait for you.” 

"Not for very long, it seems."

"What? _You_ left _me_ without an answer."

Pep grits his teeth. “Was not initiating any contact and being spotted around town with your ex-wife part of that waiting process?” 

Jurgen ducks his head. “She visits a lot with my sons. You know that.”

“I understand that it’s not your fault, Pep. You may be a brilliant manager with a bright mind, but you can- you are oblivious to the people around you sometimes. You keep up such a facade.”

”That’s a big word- did you learn that in the dictionary?”

Jurgen leans further back. “This is what I’m talking about. You hide behind your tactics and books and this gigantic house and your- your golfing! You rarely show your true self. You do not share your burden.” 

His true self was- it had been buried inside him since he said yes to the Bayern job. 

"I was hoping all that time that you would realized that you loved me back one day, but I suppose the question is whether you can love at all."

That was a real stab in the heart. 

"I-"

"Love is not a weakness."

_How could he say something like that?_

He had shown Jurgen the conflict beneath the surface, how his desire to win and dissatisfaction with where his team was clashed with the rest of his life outside of the game, hoping it would make him stay despite the flaws that had made Cristina leave him behind. 

And he had- Pep had been so blind. 

The thing was, Pep wasn’t sure what love was anymore. But he knew he wanted to be with Jurgen. Damn the consequences. 

"I do love you-" Pep says hopelessly. It was one last-ditch effort to relieve himself of crushing loneliness. "I love the way your eyes light up when you smile and how you always listen to me when I speak. I love your empathy and your curiosity and even the way you snore. I love how you never make compromises and how you always seem to get the better of me at competitions. We are both too old to get into silly arguments and too old to give this up. I'm not the best at affection- ha! I've admitted that I'm not good at something. I can't believe I'm saying this to another man, but I love you. "

Jurgen chuckles. “We’re very bad this, aren’t we? You went into Spanish half-way through, though I think _te amo_ means something good.”

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"You are more important than the game to me- sometimes. Of course, I will."

And that was a very compelling declaration of love from a football coach.

"I'm sorry that you got a- the wrong message from me."

"Are you willing to go public with this relationship?"

Pep sits up, alarmed.

He could not possibly be serious, with homophobia in the sport the way it was-

Jurgen laughs. It is sound that Pep has missed. "One step at a time. I know that's how you like it."

"You will have to meet my family first. I think they would like you."

"Mmm. And you, mine."

They smile at each other. 

Pep yawns, suddenly drained. "I'm going to bed."

He stands. Jurgen is holding onto his hand gently, rubbing it with his thumb. 

"Mind if I join you?"

Pep presses a kiss to the back of Jurgen's hand, looking right into clear blue eyes.

 "As long as you're not a nuisance, you can stay."

* * *

 

 

 

> _"I don't say Pep Guardiola is the best - what I really think - because he constantly wins the league that he's in. It's the football they play, the things he's doing, that's really good. With wonderful resources, absolutely, but then having this clear stamp on a team that makes him, for me, the best coach in the world."_
> 
> **Jurgen Klopp**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give me kudos. i need strength for finals
> 
> references  
> \- borges is jorge luis borges, a 20th-century Argentinian poet. chapter title is from the english translation of his poem _Limits_  
>  \- [pep pre-season interview ](https://www.mancity.com/citytv/interviews/2018/august/man-city-pep-guardiola-201819-season-preview)  
> -[ city, liverpool tactics](https://www.theguardian.com/football/2019/may/13/manchester-city-tactics-liverpool-premier-league-title)  
> \- Bärchen, german term of endearment meaning 'bear' (hopefully this is accurate)  
> -[ manchester city 18/19 EPL season](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018%E2%80%9319_Manchester_City_F.C._season#Premier_League)  
> \- [manchester city 2, liverpool 1](https://www.coachesvoice.com/tactical-analysis-manchester-city-2-liverpool-1-leroy-sane/)  
> -did you know that klopp underwent a [ hair transplant](https://www.thelocal.de/20130413/49125), bc I sure as hell didn't  
> \- keeping track of city's coaching staff is super hard and honestly? not going to put too much effort into this- i write what i want  
> \- Football fact: Mikel Artera was the most fouled player in history when he played for Arsenal (that’s why the “I had an argument with the fourth official” line is funny to me)  
> \- [ klopp after the barca match](https://www.bbc.com/sport/football/48195674)
> 
> Author's notes
> 
>   * so apparently Pep is called Jose by his family (not an uncommon nickname in Spanish-speaking countries)
>   * i know more about klopp after writing this than i know about some of my classmates (or football lmao), eg. he goes on walks alone to clear his head after difficult matches
>   * pep's footballing philosophy is like "we have to maintain control of the ball at all times" while klopp's is like "yeah emotions are real. use them."
>   * they spoooon
>   * you cannot tell me that Pep "wears cashmere sweaters and beautifully structured coats like a second skin" Guardiola is not a fan of soft, warm things
>   * completely made up the meeting between poch and pep
>   * i'm more of a liverpool fan tbh
>   * when i write a 'small flat in warrington', I mean one with three bedrooms and a really large living room
>   * obvious respect is obvious
>   * when I looked up "town between" on google it instantly completed my planned search by adding "manchester and liverpool". i'm scared
>   * old ~~dorks~~ men in love
>   * just say you love him 
>   * whyyy did i write this- i got so tired in the middle part that it's basically all exposition. "show, don't tell?" never heard of it
>   * am a sucker for cheesy endings
> 



	5. forget the world and its weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 18/19 Champions League final and what comes next. 
> 
> They both get what they deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from a Coldplay song. 
> 
> I was kinda hoping someone would reply to my suggestion to add an epilogue just so I had an excuse to carry on with this story and procrastinate instead of studying for finals. 
> 
> Much thanks to firenites_houseplant for commenting that they would like to see an epilogue. Also all my love to putin, BitterAlmond 21 and other users for leaving lovely comments and kudos 💕💕

Pep lounges on his new couch.

It was made of buttery leather and had been imported from Italy for an exorbitant price, even for him, but it was like sitting on a cloud. 

He sinks into it further while the pre-match analysis is carried out on the TV screen. 

It is hilarious to see Jose and Arsene Wenger sitting on camera, side by side, as the commentators for the Champions League final. There had been a great deal of animosity between them when they worked in the Premier League as managers of two rivals. Perhaps time did heal all wounds. 

Jose's hair had gone completely pale after he had been sacked. Pep thinks it makes him look distinguished, like he was settling into the new role of sports commentator. 

Pep would like to be a pundit when he retired. He could already see it, sitting casually in a tall chair in a crisp suit, having people respect his opinion on matches and arguing with like-minded men. Maybe Jurgen could join him, as the yin to his yang, and even if he refused, he would persuade him to.

"Look at that," His father breathes out next to him. "The match is close to starting."

He had gathered his family and close friends at his Manchester home for the big match. Originally they had wanted to watch it in a pub or at a restaurant, but his sisters insisted on bringing the children.

The teenagers seem the most engaged when Imagine Dragons sang during the electrifying opening ceremony. Pep himself prefers Coldplay. 

One of his nephews is wearing a bright red Liverpool jersey. Olga shrugs when he points it out. 

"He likes how they always win," She says to him, hand already in a bowl of snacks. "And I couldn't say no to him."

"Do you think they'll win?" Her husband asks him. 

"Liverpool?" His friend Txiki looks at him, opening a takeout package of fish and chips and staking out a seat at the end of the spacious couch. "You know it's extremely difficult for a team to win the Champions League in their first time in the final."

"And I like Tottenham a lot," Mikel adds from where he was balancing Pep's daughter on his knee. "But Liverpool have the best chance. Klopp's not going to let them lose again. The players would be so upset. It would be a huge blow to their morale."

Pep chews on his salad. 

"Mauricio makes sure that his team plays well. Too many injuries though," His father notes. His mother clucks her tongue when he reaches for Olga's bowl of nibbles and he withdraws it swiftly. "What do you think, Jose?"

"If they start Harry Kane and change their formation," Pep says slowly. "They will not have a chance. Harry is not fit to play. Liverpool will win the final, even if they do not play at their best. Consistency is key."

Txiki nods. "It's like they're setting themselves up for a Premier League match, not a Champions League match. Where's Moura?"

Mikel mutters something in Catalan.

A blessing, Pep realises. 

"What team do you want to win?" Francesca's husband, Ramon, asks his eldest daughter. 

"I don't know," The young girl answers honestly. Pep thinks she is the type of sullen teenager to roll their eyes once for every third sentence. "The best team."

"Liverpool?" Her brother says, eyes wide. 

"Hmm?" The girl replies, looking confused. The adults titter among themselves.

"It's starting!" Francesca hollers. The remaining stragglers come in through the glass doors from the garden, looking excited.  

The players exit the tunnel, some staring straight ahead, others bouncing up and down on the heels of their feet. A few are already sweating from the Madrid heat.  

The camera cuts to Jurgen, dressed simply in his trademark windbreaker and black cap, seemingly relaxed. He spots the camera pointed at him and winks impishly. 

The German had called him yesterday, saying banal things about the weather and training. Pep knows that this match was his sixth final, and second consecutive Champions League final, and that he would have to win in the Wanda Metropolitano to prove his worth to the world. A coach's talents were measured by silverware and Jurgen had very little. 

"They can say whatever they like about me, whether I win or lose," He had said, referring to the press that had hounded him to Spain. "I will have no regrets."

"I'm sure the journalists are respectful."

"To my face perhaps, but who knows what they publish?"

"I hope you will win. Then you can come back and we can have dinner together."

Pep could hear the smile in his voice. "That's all the encouragement I need, _bärchen_."

He remembers when he lifted the Champions League trophy with the best Barca team in a generation. They were the most powerful team in the world at that time. It was at the peak of his career, a point where he had been unable to return to ever since. It is painful to walk past the trophy when you lose and to see another team lift it.

"Winning is the best feeling in the world," He admitted over the phone. "Nothing will ever compare to it."

Jurgen had chuckled smoothly. "I don't need you to tell me that."

"Whether Mauricio decided to build his team on a back four or a back five, don't change your formation. Press them hard enough to force some goalkeeping errors."

"Thanks for the advice."

A pause.

"I love you."

Pep's mouth had moved up slightly. "I love you too."

* * *

 

Let it not be said that an encounter between two teams from the same league in a final would be boring. 

"Oh look at that!" His father exclaims when Liverpool's first pressing attempt led to a penalty kick. 

Sissoko had held out his arm to Mane when the Liverpool player tried to kick the ball- naturally, Pep thought as the broadcaster played a quick rerun. It being seen as a handball was bad luck for him.

Pep takes in a deep breath when Salah comes forward for the kick. Near him, Mikel is stroking his chin with his hand thoughtfully, while his sisters are leaning forward on the edge of their seat. It was time for the Egyptian player to exorcise his Champions League demons. 

He scores, the ball evading Lloris' diving save. His teammates are ecstatic. The goal was scored within two minutes- a new record, maybe?

Some of his friends cheer. 

"Now it will be up to Tottenham to react," notes Mikel. 

"So early into the game," Txiki says partly to himself, unsettled by the match. "What a nightmare for Mauricio."

After the goal, both sides seem to move even more sluggishly. Pep had rarely seen a duller match between two great teams. Both had not played during the three-week break and the managers knew each other too well to make the match an exciting more.

His son nibbles at his burger restlessly, looking away from the game as the two teams jostled around in the midfield.

Marius is not bored by football often, being raised in such a family of football-lovers, but Pep could see the interest bleeding out of his son's eyes.

Liverpool and the Spurs had both overcome huge obstacles to get to the final, pushing past spirited rivals in the semi-finals, and they were showing none of their bite now. He would have expected Tottenham to try harder to equalise. It was supposed to be the biggest match in the London club's history. 

The camera shows Jurgen again, animated at the sidelines despite the slow pace of the game. He gestures at Alisson and at his defenders. The coach had the good sense not to put Karius on the pitch.

"Hmph," Olga's husband says when a ball is saved by Alisson. "It's getting more interesting now."

"He's doing everything he can. It will be difficult for Tottenham's strikers to get close to the net."

"So what do you think of the outcome?"

"Anything can happen," Pep shrugs. "The game is unpredictable."

"But clearly in Liverpool's favour," Mikel says, pecking at a square of goat cheese dipped in honey. "Has a game ever gone on for so long without action?"

"They can regroup."

"Well, I'm ready to congratulate Klopp," Rodolfo says. "Liverpool are going to be insufferable after this."

"We would have done it better," replies Txiki. 

"Of course Jose would do it better. He's the best!"

His father had so much belief in him. 

Mikel shares a laugh with Pep. 

"If I were the best, _pare_ , City would be in the finals instead of the Spurs."

"Don't be bitter, Pep," says Francesca with an amused glint in her eye. "What's done is done."

"Francesca's right," his father says. "You can't go back and replay the match."

Pep knows he could have done better. City would have a chance of winning the Champions League, but the rest of the world seemed to be against them. Or maybe he was not good enough.

"Better luck next season."

A domestic treble seemed to have satisfied the Board and the owners for the time being. The facts tell him that it has been more than seven years since he last reached a Champions League final. He just doesn't have the best record in the competition. 

"Maybe Liverpool's goal is to outlast Spurs," Lorena, Mikel's wife, says. 

"They're certainly not playing in their usual way. Exhaustion, no doubt," says Rodolfo.

At half-time, Pep was glad he did not waste effort travelling to Madrid to watch the match in person, because this final would not be one to remember. Liverpool's defensive work was excellent- Tottenham was having a hard time finding a chance to score- but it didn't have the flair of usual finals. 

"I wonder if he'll put Origi on," muses Txiki aloud. 

Pep looks up from his salad. "He will. Look at how Firmino is doing. No energy."

"Well, he has been injured for some time."

They talk over Jose and Arsene's commentary for a while. The children, easily distracted by their  _àvia_ offering sweet treats, have run off into the dining room. If his original goal was to get everyone drunk during the night, they were on their way to achieving that on their fifth bottle of wine. 

"Maybe football matches shouldn't be played at night," he remarks, slightly tipsy. Pep was on his fourth full glass of vintage already. He wasn’t exactly keeping count. "Everyone is sleepy by then."

"It's not even ten, Pep," Mikel scoffs. "Players don't lose awareness that easily."

"And it's cooler in the evening."

"Ah."

His friends laugh without malice.

"Klopp's looking confident," says Pep with an air of detachment.

The network shows the German coach with his hands in his pockets, a small smirk on his face. Likely accepting that he was going to coast to victory. 

His father nods. "It's Tottenham's first time in the finals. Hard to win in your debut match." 

"Hmph," Manel snorts. "When is he _never_ confident."

History would be made tonight.

"He's lost six straight major finals," says Manel. "People say he's cursed whenever his team plays at that level."

Pep sighs. "Let's hope he wins this one."

His friend turns to him, a curious look in his eyes. "Do you _want_ Jurgen Klopp to win?"

Pep knows that the other man understands the feeling of mutual respect they both had in public, but not the inner desire he had to see the man he loves soar to new heights. It was more than just a trophy for Jurgen and the team he had built, it always is. 

He shifts slightly. "We aren't mortal enemies if that's what you think. The best man will win."

"He'll end up second best, as he always does. There isn't a winner inside him."

Pep's left hand slowly curls into a fist. 

"Do you want to get something to eat, Pep?" Mikel says abruptly, even though there was clearly more than enough food for everyone on the coffee table. 

"Alright," Pep says stiffly. 

Mikel leads him to the upstairs study instead, hand on his elbow.

Pep's assistant was younger than him by at least a decade, but he had a talent for tactical innovation and could rival Bisela in his deep analysis of the game, which made him one of Pep's peers.

Once they were out of earshot, he goes. "What is your deal with Klopp? Friend? Foe?" 

"We're colleagues."

"Are you?" Mikel says with a deep sigh. "I'm going to cut the bullshit. You are being too obvious."

Pep says nothing, his heart thumps heavily in his chest. 

"You may think you can hide it from your family, but I'm your right-hand, Pep."

"Who was it?"

"Margery tipped me off. You went to Warrington, what- every two weeks this season? I tried reaching you on your afternoon off and she said you were there. Then all these long hugs after matches? And there was this period where you were moping about the training grounds alone- thank God it did not impact the matches- I called Achterberg and he told me that Klopp was pretty much the same when no one was looking."

"What?"

"You were hurting, Pep. It was very clear. I thought about asking you what had happened."

"There was a misunderstanding between us."

"Are you two still?"

"We're-" Pep has a split second to think about whether he should lie or just walk away entirely. "-together."

It was like a great weight had been lifted off him. 

Mikel looks surprised, as though he didn't expect the confession to come so easily. 

"You're gay?" he asks uncomfortably. "Is that why Calina- you don't look-"

Pep thought his friend would be more open-minded- they were Spanish, after all- but maybe footballers were all the same. They played a game where the word _faggot_ was used as a casual insult.  _Was he disgusted by me?_

He sets his jaw.

"I'm not. I'm bisexual."

"Sorry."

"It's alright."

A pause as they both sit down in chairs. 

"Why him though?"

"He's my equal. He makes me feel loved."

"You really think-" Mikel begins, but then stops. "As long as you're happy, I suppose."

"Yes."

"That must make things complicated. You're both perceived to be the greatest rivals in English football at the most moment."

"You have no idea."

"I think you should end it then."

Pep is surprised by his own firmness when he says, "No."

"It will make life easier for the two of you. A relationship like this cannot survive under the scrutiny of the media. You will be ruined."

"We'll tell the world eventually."

"They will dig until they uncover this secret relationship."

"They won't find out."

"You of all people should understand the importance of controlling the narrative. You are not living a private life, Pep."

"We know how this will look, but what we have is special."

"You are forty-eight. Too late for foolish flings like this."

"Then I am growing foolish in my old age."

"Imagine the headlines. The reaction of the fans and the Catalans. The club itself. They may think you rig the games with Liverpool. Private life and working life and all that. Your image-"

"Will recover, Mikel. We will be fine. I don't care about what others think of me as much as you believe."

Mikel gives him a look as dry as Spain in the summer. 

"I am afraid _for_ you."

"I am one of the best coaches in the world, my sexuality is just part of who I am. If they cannot accept that, then they will have to admit they are not modernised."

"Do you know what it means to come out?"

That thought had been hovering at the edge of Pep's mind after the Champions League semi-final. He would have to ask Jurgen what he thought about the possibility as well.

"You will support me if I did."

"You know we all would. Maybe the players will resist, but they'll come around."

"Will you keep my secret?"

"Of course, you idiot. I don't like it, but I will do it."

Pep hugs his friend tightly, feeling relieved.

"Let's get back to the game."

"It's not like we've missed anything," Mikel quips.

* * *

"Congratulations."

Jurgen grins, all white teeth and crow's feet. Pep does not know what was so attractive about plain blue eyes, but he could guess that his allure came from the unfiltered emotion that burned behind them. "I've heard that phrase many times this week."

"Would you like me to fetch a thesaurus?"

"No more books please."

"What did you think of it?" 

Jurgen's gold medal lies on the bedstand, shining in the early morning light. Pep regards it with only a little jealousy. It was the good sort, the sort that made you want to be better.

"The competition or the sex?"

"The competition," Pep says with a roll of his eyes. 

"It was like a good dream. We had the best outcome. I am so happy that the boys got their reward for their hard work at last and the fans support us so much."

"Only took you a couple of tries."

"We made it. It is all that matters. Did you watch me?"

"Yes."

"That heart was meant for you."

Jurgen had made a heart with his hands in the aftermath of the closing ceremony. He had done it towards the stands with a faraway look on his face, and again during the victory parade in Liverpool. It was incredibly sweet.

"I would be disappointed if you told me it was for someone else."

The German chuckles, and presses a light kiss on Pep's head. 

They lay there for a while, next to each other, without touching.

"I've been thinking-"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to come out?"

"Come out? For dinner?"

"As this."

"A couple."

"Yes."

"So soon?"

"Mikel found out about us."

"He won't leak it to anyone, right?"

"He promised he wouldn't."

"Then do your parents know?"

"I'll bring you to my hometown in July before the pre-season friendlies."

"Would you like to visit mine? Meet my children?"

"I don't think your children would like me."

"They haven't met you yet. I want you to meet them if we are to carry on." 

"There's still the problem of revealing this."

"Our relationship."

"I'm not sure how we can do this."

"That means you're serious about doing this."

"We'll just tell the world we're dating."

"I think the response will be unthinkable. I remember the first time I felt attracted to another man. It was when I was still at Mainz. I felt terrified, because how can I like men when I like women at the same time? I thought I was wrong."

Pep sits up in the bed, holding Jurgen's larger hands in his. 

"We will be first."

"We'll certainly change _something_ if we do this."

"Well?"

Jurgen smiles leisurely.

"Let's do it."

* * *

He loves Santepedor. 

It was his first home, before Barcelona and La Masia, even before England. He had played football on the cobbled streets with boys his own age, his first taste of freedom. It was a sleepy place to lay down roots and raise a family for generations.

They are at his parent's villa, where his immediate family have gathered for a birthday dinner. 

"What the fuck," Francesca says, eyes shooting daggers at Jurgen. 

Pep grips Jurgen's in his, looking everyone who dared meet his gaze directly in the eye. 

His parents had been expecting to meet the woman who had his favour. They were not expecting to meet a man who towered over them, a hesitant smile on a face they have seen before on television and newspapers. They seemed to be shocked into silence, sitting like statues on their wicker chairs. 

"You never told us that you were like this."

Pep thinks about realising who he liked in the steamy changing rooms of his youth, the pain of not pursuing lost connections, and the happiness he had now with Jurgen. 

"I-"

_Didn't know how you would react? To have given birth to a 'less than perfect' son?_

The other man squeezes his hand. 

He could not deny that it felt good to come clean to his loved ones at last. He wouldn't hide who he was. It had been more than four decades. This was the first step.

His mother stands, hands trembling slightly. His father follows, clearing his throat.

"Oh, Jose."

It turns out that he does not have to say anything. 

* * *

**2020 London Pride parade: Guardiola and Klopp join 400,000 people to march on the streets**

Hundreds of thousands of people have lined the streets of central London for the city’s annual LGBT Pride celebration.

There were colourful scenes across the city as huge crowds joined the brightly-coloured procession of floats, performers and dancers.

There is a louder conversation around LGBTQ+ rights than there has ever been. Much of life has greatly improved for many but among the noise it’s clear that visibility and acceptance are very different things, and there is still a way to go to make Pride inclusive to all the people it stands for. The conversation has to continue.

Last year was marked by what is seen by many as a cataclysmic coming out. Even non-football followers would have heard of Jurgen Klopp and Pep Guardiola's dramatic reveal of their relationship in the middle of the now-ended 2019/20 Premier League season. It was news that shook the football world, with an outpouring of support and praise for their courage, as well as derogatory remarks about their "false intimacy". 

Guardiola, current head coach of Manchester City, has been in a romantic relationship with Klopp, head coach of Liverpool Football Club, for two years and counting. Their brave decision to come out as bisexual back then was a rare one in the hypermasculine sport, which Olivier Giroud, an openly gay French football player, once said was 'impossible to be homosexual in'.

They have since appeared in charitable events for LGBT groups and have donated more than one million pounds to related charities. There have been talks about them creating a foundation to provide support to LGBT footballers and other athletes, and to achieve diversity in the sport. Their high-profile presence and well-documented success have helped raise awareness about the issues surrounding non-heterosexuality, with five more footballers encouraged to come out this season alone. Remember, there were no openly LGBT coaches in the Premier League before Klopp and Guardiola. 

"I love him," Guardiola had famously said in a conference prior to a match with his partner's team. "I will not let him go because of what you say about it. I will not forget who I am because of what you say about it. I _choose_ him."

The two joined more than 400,000 attendees during the London Pride parade, a key event of Pride Month celebrations in the capital. The unifying aspect is celebrating acceptance, pure and simple.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated
> 
>  **References**  
>  -[pep's life in manchester](https://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/sport/football/football-news/pep-guardiola-city-loves-manchester-14952018)  
> -[cnn match analysis: ucl final](https://edition.cnn.com/2019/06/02/football/champions-league-post-match-analysis-liverpool-tottenham-spt-intl/index.html)  
> -[catalan snacks](https://eatyourworld.com/blog/catalan_sweets_five_not_to_miss) that make me wish I could go to Barcelona  
> -[spain has warm and dry summers](https://www.studycountry.com/guide/ES-climate.htm)  
> -[manchester city backroom staff](https://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/sport/football/football-news/man-city-guardiola-assistant-coaches-16198890), aka a who's who of this chapter  
> \- slightly biased article about [pep's history in the ucl](https://www.dreamteamfc.com/c/news-gossip/445593/pep-guardiola-record-champions-league-away-quarter-finals/)  
> \- [homosexuality in football](https://www.theguardian.com/football/2018/nov/15/olivier-giroud-impossible-homosexuality-gay-football)  
> \- àvia: 'grandmother' in catalan  
> \- marius is pep's son irl  
> \- bisela is marcelo bisela, an iconic football coach (influenced guardiola)  
> \- achterberg is john achterberg, [Liverpool's goalkeeping coach](https://www.liverpoolecho.co.uk/sport/football/football-news/backroom-staff-helping-push-jurgen-16100488)
> 
> **Author's notes**
> 
>   * time for some canon divergence
>   * so it turns out that Pep actually lives in a luxury apartment provided by manchester city, but in this story, he lives in an actual house- i make the rules
>   * in my time zone, the ucl final started at around two in the morning and I woke at three-ish when Liverpool had already scored. poch and klopp were so animated on the sidelines in the last 20 mins
>   * manel is nicer irl
>   * idk where i got the assumption that francesca would be more stubborn than olga
>   * they're speaking spanish btw. i know this girl who's learning spanish and she brings it up like all the time.
>   * is pep a lightweight? hmmm who knows
>   * i wonder what they did in bed with the gold medal (oop bad thoughts lia)
>   * this chapter was a little too touched by pride month, methinks 🏳️🌈
>   * happy ending coming your way.
>   * personally drew this some bad [fanart](https://possessedbyforcesunknown.tumblr.com/post/185539921644/i-drew-something-for-my-fic-bc-im-that-person)
> 

> 
> _homosexuality in football exists, but it's rare for players (especially premier league ones) to come out because of the potential abuse. hopefully, this attitude will change._


End file.
